The Heart of the Hawk
by ModestySparrow9
Summary: Tristan&OC Adima, Guinevere's sister, finds her with Arthur and his knights. She falls in love with Tristan, and he with her. But can their love survive a horrible war? !Complete! plz R
1. An Ambush

Chapter 1: The First Meeting  
  
Disclaimer: The story line and all the characters except for Adima are not mine, I wish they were.  
  
The carriage was getting slowly closer. Every minute of anticipation would pay off, however. Adima ran her fingers across the bark of the giant tree she hid behind. She blended in almost perfectly with her surrounding's, painted with the traditional blue Woad paint.  
  
She could hear the horses now; they were snorting and sending up chunks of dirt as they sped their way across the path. Two of them were pulling a carriage; the others were useful only as steeds for their superior riders. One of them flicked his ears in Adima's direction and pranced uncomfortably. Adima concentrated hard on the soldiers guarding the carriage as she waited for her signal to move.  
  
A shout rang through the woods and the group of deadly Woads began their attack. Adima gripped her spear tightly and as she ran, through it at one of the guards hitting him square in the chest. She let out a hounding battle cry and unsheathed her sword which she immediately had to use.  
  
The guards, on their horses fought back against the Woads, who outnumbered them by quit a bit. Blue painted bodies clashed with armored ones as the battle raged on. One soldier charged his horse forward, his sword at the ready, heading straight for Adima. As he passed by her he swung his sword, nearly missing her. She backed off and he turned his horse around for another attempt.  
  
Again, she cried loudly, barring her teeth and all her anger. This time as the horse charged for her she pulled out her bow from behind her and two arrows. She shot at the man and arrows pierced him in the neck and the shoulder. He fell to the ground, dead, his horse still running widely, its nostrils flaring.  
  
More horsemen suddenly appeared out of nowhere, covered in amour and prepared to fight. They leaped over a small hill and started attacking her kinsmen. She grunted angrily and pulled out another arrow and shot it at them. She nearly hit one, but he sped out of the arrow's path just in time.  
  
She then turned to the carriage and started shooting her arrows at it. She was surprised when one of the horsemen suddenly appeared in front of her. He ran right in front of her and charged. He raised his hand and through a knife at her. She dodged it and knowing she wouldn't have time to shoot at him, grasped her sword and blocked his blow. Their sword's clashed together and she almost knocked him off his horse. He stayed on however and like the last rider, turned his horse around and came for her.  
  
Adima gripped her sword tightly and prepared herself for a second encounter. As the rider came at her, their sword's clashed again and Adima swiftly cut the girth on the horse's saddle, causing the saddle to slip. The rider leaped off his horse, knowing he would have fallen if he hadn't.  
  
He steadied himself and the two locked swords again. His dark hair was wet with sweat and so was Adima's. He aimed his sword at her neck and brought it down upon her. Adima raised the sword to block the blow, but the force of it was too great and the sword was knocked out of her hand. Adima heard a hawk screech and tried to ignore it. She stood facing the rider, and he stood facing her, ready for the kill.  
  
He opened his mouth to take a deep breath of air. He looked at Adima's sword and did not move. He was giving her another chance. Adima ran to pick up her sword, but by the time she got it, she noticed her kinsmen running back into the woods. She looked at the rider one last time before she turned and ran into the woods with the others. 


	2. In The Snow

Chapter 2: In the Snow  
  
Snow fell from the sky, blanketing the earth in a soft white glow. Adima again, found herself hiding behind a tall grey tree for protection. She and several of her kinsmen were waiting on the outskirts of a small Roman home, for the opportune moment to attack.  
  
Her older sister was said to have been taken prisoner there, and Adima was determined to free her. She listened to her surroundings; the slight wind flowing through the trees; the chirp of a bird or screech of a hawk. The air all of a sudden grew cold and silent. Adima turned her head from one side to the other, making sure her friends were prepared to fulfill their duty to attack when called upon.  
  
Adima frowned, concentrating. Something told her to hold back the arrow she was ready to let fly. She lowered her arms and waited. The surfs working in the field in front of the gate to their master, Marius' house all looked in one direction; some stopped working all together. Adima couldn't see what they had but she knew she must wait. One of her kinsmen looked to her for instruction; Adima returned her gaze but refrained from speaking.  
  
Adima realized what they were all looking at when she saw, coming out of a path in the woods, a small army of men mounted proudly on their horses. A look of disgust flared in her eyes. Adima recognized one of them. It was the man she fought not long ago. She looked closer and saw a hawk perched on his shoulder. She knew he and the other knights could be trouble.  
  
She quickly frowned. She knew they wouldn't be able to free her sister while these men were here. They obviously were soldiers, she thought, and she would surely die along with her kinsmen if they attacked the home now. She would be patient and wait till they left; then she would order the attack. They couldn't possibly be staying long. What brought them to this far off land on the other side of Hadrian's Wall anyway?  
  
Adima didn't know it, but these were Arthur's men; men told about in stories and inspiring tales. Men-soldiers who fought against evil; fought for Rome, with honor, and bravery. They were heroes of men, sent here on a final mission to return one Roman family to the opposite side of Hadrian's Wall and return them to Rome, for the devilish Saxons were on their way to that very land, to destroy all in their path, and eventually exterminate the Woads, and many others. These were Arthur's knights-those of the round table, and they were not to be underestimated.  
  
Adima couldn't hear all they said when they arrived, but she could hear Arthur explaining his arrival to the owner of the land, Marius. Arthur seemed to have a particular interest in Marius's son. Some arguing went on, and some of the serfs went about there business. Then, tension seemed to grow down near the home. Adima waited, and watched. They were being deported; Marius' family, and the surfs that worked on his land.  
  
After some time, Arthur made an unexpected move. He noticed some sort of stone structure on the outside of the stone wall before him that surrounded Marius' house. Arthur ordered it opened, and it was. He and his knights went inside. Adima's curiosity grew.  
  
When Arthur and his knights came back, they had with them three bodies. Two were carried, the other, a man, walked out himself. Adima's eyes widened as she recognized her sister. "Guinevere," she whispered under her breath in awe.  
  
She wanted to make the attack, but thought better of it. To attack the home now would be certain suicide. Arthur ordered someone to help Guinevere. They gave her and the small boy water. Guinevere was weak; she lay limply in the man's arms. The horror of this sight brought hatred and sorrow to Adima. She never wanted to see her sister like this. It petrified her. Anger burned within her. One of her kinsmen looked at her again; her eyes were filled with hatred too.  
  
Adima cautiously moved closer to the edge of the woods to get a better view. She hid behind a tree when one of the knights looked up in her direction. The hawk on his arm lifted its wings and screeched. Adima warily looked around the tree at the village below them. The knight still stared at the woods. He then was distracted by the happenings around him and his gaze turned away.  
  
Night fell, and the day rose again. The caravan of people was preparing to leave. All night long, the night before, Adima and her kin had kept a close eye on Guinevere and the boy with her. The knights had apparently succeeded in convincing Marius and the others to leave with them on that day.  
  
But the Woads were not the only ones who kept a keen eye and heightened senses on things throughout the night. The knight with the hawk also stayed up the entire night, keeping watch. He could sense something was out there in the forest, but he didn't know what.  
  
The lightly snow covered ground crunched beneath his feet as he walked over to his dappled grey and patted its neck affectionately. He placed its leather saddle on its back and tightened its girth.  
  
The caravan with all the surfs, the captives, the master and his family, and the knights, set their course and began the journey to the other side of Hadrian's Wall, to a small British fort for safety. Adima and her friends would follow. It wasn't until nightfall that Adima decided to make the attack.  
  
"Friends," she instructed her kin. "Tonight we must rescue my sister, and the boy." They all listened quietly. "We will not go for a full on attack. Guinevere and the boy are in that wagon over there," she pointed to where her sister and the boy were being held. "We will make our way down there in the darkness of this night, and kill all who oppose us. We must rescue them; if we fail, we will have come all this way for nothing, and we may be killed. Be careful all of you." They all nodded and readied their weapons.  
  
In the cover of night, Adima and her friends made their way out of the forest and close to the wagon. They were only feet from it when one of the surfs screamed. Adima jumped in her skin.  
  
"Knights!" he screamed. "Savages! Savages from the woods! They attack!"  
  
Suddenly, four of the knights appeared. "Guinevere!" Adima shouted to her sister. Guinevere groaned. She was laying in the wagon, half asleep. "Guinevere!"  
  
Adima recognized one of the knights and made her way towards him, her teeth bared violently like a wild animal. The knight recognized her as well. Adima pulled out her sword, as did the knight. Adima looked around her quickly, noticing her kinsmen fighting off the other knights. Suddenly, two more knights approached. Adima saw only two more of her friends still alive and fighting. Two of her friends already lay dead on the pearly white ground, the snow stained in their fresh blood.  
  
Adima screamed ferociously with anger. She noticed another one of her friends fall to the ground as the knight slowly approached her. Suddenly, he made his move, charging for her. She lifted her sword blocking his blow and they fought. As their swords collided, she pushed with all her might against the knight, trying to knock him off balance. "Guinevere!" Adima shouted again.  
  
Guinevere slowly came to in the wagon. She lifted her head and rubbed her forehead with her aching palm. She thought she'd heard someone call out her name. She tried to stand up but her legs collapsed underneath her. A woman who was in the wagon with her tried to pull her back but Guinevere screamed, "let me go!" the woman let go, startled by this act of resistance.  
  
"Guinevere!" Adima shouted once more.  
  
Her sister didn't know exactly what was going on, but she heard fighting going on outside. She poked her head out of the wagon. "Stop!" she cried when she saw Adima. She climbed out of the wagon, tumbling over the cold mounds of snow. Arthur pulled his sword out of one of the Woad's bare chests. The Woad lay on the ground, dead.  
  
Tristan didn't hear Guinevere's shout. He moved closer to Adima who had fallen over onto the snow. She thrust her leg at Tristan attempting to kick him but his sword caught her leg instead, slicing it and creating a deep cut that was quick to bleed. Adima's face contorted with the pain that followed.  
  
Guinevere called again. "Stop!" Tristan, standing over Adima, stopped and turned around. Lancelot tried to help Guinevere up for she had fallen over again. "Leave her," Guinevere shouted. "She's my sister!"  
  
Tristan looked at Adima questioningly then at Arthur. "Let her go," Arthur commanded, hesitantly.  
  
Adima struggled to lift herself up as Tristan sheathed his sword and stepped back from her apprehensively. Lancelot helped Guinevere make her way over to Adima. Adima clumsily stood herself up, grabbing her sword and holding it tightly. "We came to rescue you," she explained almost out of breath. "Come, we must go home, sister." Adima sighed deeply realizing she was the only survivor of their raid.  
  
Arthur walked up to them before they had a chance to say any more. "Who are you?" Adima spat at the ground underneath his feet. Arthur didn't look at all amused. "My name is Arthur," he said politely. "Who are you?" He pointed his sword at Adima threateningly.  
  
"This is my sister, Adima," Guinevere spoke up. "Please, don't hurt her."  
  
"She can't take you anywhere," Arthur said calmly. He looked directly at Adima. "Your sister is weak; if you want to take her into the woods now, she'll never make it home. We will set her free once we reach the other side of the wall and are safe in our fort, but we don't have the time to fight with you now. The Saxons are probably only days away from us at this very moment. If you want your sister to live; we can help her, but you must cooperate."  
  
Adima scowled, and limped over to one of the dead bodies of her kinsmen. "We must burry them," she said, leaning over him. Arthur nodded. "Be quick," he called to his knights, who immediately went to work. Adima, limping, took Guinevere back to the wagon to rest. She would stay with her sister, the boy, whose name she later learned was Lucan, and make the journey to the British fort run by Romans, the knights were on their way to. She knew Guinevere would never make it if they departed for the woods now; her sister was just too weak. She could be patient; she would wait to return home. 


	3. From Enemies To Aquaintances

A/n:  
  
To Wild Blood Rose: Thanks for the review. I'm glad you like the story so far. Lol, your name's really cool.  
  
To Denethor's Angel: Thanks, yeah, I'm trying to add a little more Arthur/Guinevere in here. Lol, Denethor rules!  
  
To Aurien: Thanks for the review!  
  
To Goth Musician: Thanks for the review. Tristan's kind of a hard nut to crack...is that the right expression? I think so...yeah...lol, I don't know what I'm saying...  
  
To Sheiado: I think I emailed you already but I can't remember. Lol, I'm still not sure if Dag is gonna live in this story or not. I think her did have a very honorable death in the movie, and Lucan can stand a little more torment! J/K; that poor kid. Well, I know I'll at least kill one of the knights to make it realistic. It'll be a surprise! Lol. If you want to write a story where Dag lives (or if you have already) I'd like to read it!  
  
To Koalared: What do you need help with? If the chapter's confusing, you can email me and ask any questions and I can help you out. Thanks for the review! ï  
  
To LeonisCordis: Thanks for the review. Tristan is by far the coolest character in King Arthur. They always kill off my favorite characters! It's horrible! Grrr!  
  
To Annuna: Thanks SO much for the review. I felt so stupid after I realized I'd spelt serfs wrong. Lol, thanks for pointing it out to me so I could change it! ï  
  
To Raynnach SilverMoon: Right now I'm not saying who I'll kill of, or not, or will, or who will wonder the earth half dead at the end of my story...lol...that would be cool. I'm glad you like the story though. You should write a KA fanfic. I'd read it! ï Thanks for the review.  
  
Chapter 3: From Enemies to Acquaintances  
  
Marius' wife, Lucinia tended to the deep gash in Adima's left thigh. She dipped a small cloth in a bowl of cool water and held the cloth over the wound, squeezing it slightly causing the water to drip into the cut. It felt refreshing to Adima despite the aching pain that shot through her thigh.  
  
The woman gently wiped the cloth across the wound, and then dried it with another. She then wrapped an additional cloth around Adima's thigh to secure the wound so it wouldn't become infected and to stop it from bleeding. Adima, with another water bowl and cloth, cleaned her blood stained pants that lay beside her.  
  
Just then, Tristan walked in front of the wagon peering in. He took one look at Adima and mortified, turned around at once. "Excuse me, miss. I didn't know-"  
  
"It's fine," Adima said somewhat bitterly. "Just don't turn around."  
  
"There," Lucinia smiled once finished.  
  
"Thank you," Adima said politely. It was probably one of the nicest things she'd said since she joined the caravan earlier that night. Adima was offered a crème colored night gown to fit over her clothes. She hurriedly put it on, slipping her top off underneath it.  
  
"You can turn around now," Adima scowled.  
  
Tristan cleared his throat. "Arthur wanted me to check up on you; see how that wound was healing."  
  
"Well, as you know, it hasn't had much time to heal, seeing as I just received it not long ago."  
  
Tristan nodded and turned to leave. "Wait," Adima called after him. "What's your name?"  
  
Tristan turned to face her. "Tristan," he said.  
  
"Well, you can go now. You can also tell Arthur I'll be just fine."  
  
Tristan nodded. He left the three women in silence.  
  
Once he had gone, Lucinia put her hand to her mouth, and yawned. She leaned out the side of the wagon and poured out the remaining water from the bowl outside on the frozen ground. The wagon had stopped for the night.  
  
Lucinia looked grieved.  
  
"What's troubling you, Lucinia?" Guinevere asked, concerned.  
  
"Oh, nothing; the day has just caught up with me, and I grow more tired by the minute. "I bid you both good night," she smiled warmly and turned to Adima. "Keep that bandage on there for now, and try not to move too much, the cloth might loosen."  
  
"Yes, thank you," Adima nodded her head, assuring Lucinia she would follow her simple instructions.  
  
"Sleep well, Lucinia," Guinevere called as the exhausted woman slipped precariously out of the wagon.  
  
"Something troubles her," Adima stated the obvious.  
  
"She doubts the goodness in her husband," Guinevere sighed.  
  
"I can plainly see he has no goodness left in him, if he ever did. His heart is that of stone."  
  
Adima shook her head in anger for the man. "He will never accept our differences."  
  
Guinevere stared vacantly at one of her hands. Arthur, earlier, had bent her distorted fingers back in place. They still ached and shook when she tried to use them. They would heal, however, and she looked forward to that day.  
  
"Your hand looks awful," Adima wrinkled her brow, starring at her sister's pale grey fingers.  
  
"Your leg looks worse," Guinevere teased.  
  
"MY leg will heal quicker; it will not damage me as much as the loss of the use of your hands."  
  
"My hands will be fine," Guinevere assured her, hoping that day would be soon. She would rather her hands than any other part of her- they were what kept her alive. She needed them to be useful for her to survive. "Arthur was kind to fix them for me."  
  
Adima through a thick, warm blanket over her and her sister and they laid down to rest, blowing out the candles near them that lit the small crowded space of the wagon. "It's strange," she whispered in the dark. "I've met Tristan before."  
  
Guinevere struggled to understand what was being sad. "You've met him before?" she asked, perplexed.  
  
"Yes, in an ambush, near the edge of the woods," Adima looked mystified. "How strange it is that I should be faced with this man twice and both times we tried to kill each other. I still don't know what they're motives are- the knights."  
  
"I already told you," Guinevere rested her hand down on the floor. "They must take these people to the other side of the wall."  
  
"I know, but I mean their motives, with us; with Lucan, too. Why are they keeping us alive?"  
  
"These knights are good men, Adima. They would die before hurting us without reason," Guinevere said, turning over to face her sister. She couldn't see much in the dark, but she could see the outline of her sister's face and arms sticking out of the blanket. "If they wanted us dead, we would be dead by now. If they wanted to rape us, we'd already been raped. The way I see it, we're neither dead, nor raped, so I feel safe."  
  
"Merlin always spoke so highly of them even though they are our enemies." Adima shook her head and smiled, confused by Merlin's extraordinary ways. "Perhaps you're right."  
  
"Merlin is wise," said Guinevere. "He knows a noble man when he comes across one. I trust his judgment."  
  
"That may be true," Adima thought a moment. She trusted Merlin, and what her sister had said made sense.  
  
Guinevere turned around and closed her eyes, trying to find sleep. "Do not worry so much," she muttered. "These knights have no intention of hurting us."  
  
Adima sighed, finally agreeing with her sister. She would try to rest easy tonight, trusting her sister's judgment of the knights.  
  
Just outside the wagon, Tristan, with his hawk perched on his arm, sat on a small flat log beside an even smaller fire. It was his duty now to make sure this new traveler didn't stir up any more trouble. Arthur had ordered him to do this, whether he wanted to or not. He scratched the hawk's neck affectionately and whispered to it in the cold.  
  
An icy wind picked up and ruffled the hawk's feathers. It stretched its wings, warning Tristan she meant to take flight. Tristan held out his arm and the bird leaped off and flew into the sky.  
  
The next morning came swiftly to those few who slept peacefully that night. Adima awoke just as the sun was rising. She pulled a warm blanket around her to block out the frozen air swirling around her. She slipped on a pair of worn out boots and took a deep breath. Her hair frizzled and her eyes half open, she quietly stepped out of the wagon to get a breath of fresh air.  
  
The wound in her leg was sore, but already it had begun to feel a little better. Startled by a loud flapping of wings, Adima gasped. Tristan's hawk had just perched itself on his muscular arm and her wings beat heavily against her sides as she landed. "Sorry, did she frighten you?" Tristan asked calmly.  
  
"No, just startled me, that's all," Adima yawned.  
  
Tristan was silent. Adima tried to flatten her hair out. If she would have only known someone was just outside the wagon, she would have checked her appearance first, before going outside. "Have you been out here all night?" Tristan nodded. Adima glared at him suspiciously, but said nothing more. She quietly walked back to the wagon to see if her sister had woken.  
  
Within the following hour, the caravan was up and moving once more. Adima had been given a dark orange dress for clothing. For warmth, she had been given a blood red hooded cloak.  
  
As the caravan steadily trudged on through the falling snow, Adima grew restless. She needed to rest her leg and stay as still as possible. If she moved around too often the wound could open even more and lead to a greater risk of infection.  
  
She and Guinevere were both looking out the front opening of the wagon. Light snow flakes fell on their cold faces, but the sight of the beautiful lush mountains to their right, made them continue to look out of the wagon at the scenery around them. Guinevere smiled when she noticed Arthur riding up beside them.  
  
"My father told me great tales of you," she told him with a smirk on her face. Adima reflected upon her stories her father would tell her and her sister. She smiled at the memory of him.  
  
"And what did you here?" Arthur asked, slightly interested.  
  
"Fairy tales. Of men so brave and selfless, they can't be real. Arthur and his knights. A lead of both Roman and British. And yet, you chose your allegiance to Rome, to those who take what isn't theirs. That same Rome that took your men from their home."  
  
"Listen, lady," Arthur said somewhat angrily. "Do not pretend that you know anything about me or my knights." Adima didn't want to get involved with their argument. She kept quiet, taking in every word that the spoke.  
  
"How many Britons have you killed?" Guinevere asked in a slightly rude manner.  
  
"As many as tried to kill me. It's the natural state of any man to want to live."  
  
"Animals live." Guinevere protested. "It's the natural state of any man to want to live free... in their own country. I belong to this land. Where do you belong, Arthur?" she waited for a reply.  
  
Arthur tried to change the subject. He didn't want to be bothered by his decision in where his loyalties lay. "How's you hand?"  
  
"I'll live; I promise you," Guinevere rubbed her delicate fingers tenderly. "Is there nothing about this land that appeals to your heart? Even your father married a Britain. He must have found something to his liking." She smiled haughtily.  
  
Arthur was silent. Guinevere just smiled at him, knowing she was right, and perhaps she was getting to him. Adima couldn't stand the quiet any longer. With no commotion going on, she quickly grew bored.  
  
"I'm going for a walk," she said, almost to herself.  
  
"Shouldn't you rest?" Arthur asked politely.  
  
"You shouldn't be concerned for my safety, Arthur," Adima said somewhat rudely. "I know my own strength. I'll rest when I need to." Adima carefully hopped out of the wagon, her leg almost giving out underneath her.  
  
She stepped quickly out of the way of the wagon, careful not to get run over, and paced herself as she walked beside it. The sound of laughter echoed in her ears. She turned around and her gaze followed a pair of young children, running behind the wagon, chasing each other.  
  
Adima smiled, reflecting upon her own childhood. She had not been reminded of it in a long time, besides the night before for she had been thrust into battle after battle for the last several months with the other Woads. Her mind loosened at the sight of the children, happy and ignorant to all the darkness around them. How innocent they were; a part of Adima wished he could be too.  
  
The children then ran in front of her, dodging in front of the horses carrying the wagon, and back around to the rear of the wagon again. The horses whinnied, startled by the children's sudden movements. The young boy, being chased by the young girl, ran in front of Adima, heading right for the front of the wagon again. Adima reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Wait," she told him, picking him up. His sister stopped running too and watched her brother. Adima set him down again and they stopped walking all together. Adima bent over, leaning her hands on her knees. The boy stood facing her, a questionable look upon his innocent face. "Don't run in front of the horses," Adima admonished. "They get frightened."  
  
The boy nodded, and figuring he was done with his punishment, and ran after his sister who was giggling loudly. They no longer ran in the horses' path. Adima smiled, watching the children play safely.  
  
Adima had no idea, but she was being watched. Behind her, Tristan rode on his horse, keeping an eye on her every move, as he was instructed. The horse snorted and shook its head, ridding itself of the lightly fallen snowflakes powdered upon it.  
  
Adima turned and looked over her shoulder. She made notice of Tristan's presence however, excluding him. She didn't know it for certain, but something told her he was watching her and it made her skin crawl.  
  
Late into the day, just as the sun was going down, the caravan slowly came to a halt, giving everyone a chance to rest for the night. Adima sat on the end of the wagon sipping a bowl of warm broth and cooked vegetables. Steam rose from the bowl and she closed her eyes in the comfort of knowing she had something warm to eat, though the stew wasn't that much. She knew somewhere in the camp, her sister was enjoying it too.  
  
She heard a loud snort and opened her eyes. It had startled her some. Slurping up the last sip of broth, Adima set her bowl on the wagon floor beside her. She scooted herself off the wagon and made her way towards where the sound came from. Tristan's back was to her, and he was apparently tying his horse to a small, young tree on the edge of the forest. He had just returned from scouting.  
  
The horse's saddle and bridle had already been removed and it was being tied by a thin rope that wrapped around its face to join on either side of the head to make a long thin rope that Tristan tied into a knot around the tree.  
  
A part of Adima wanted to go back to the wagon and rest, but the other part urged her forward. "This your horse?" she asked already knowing what the answer would be.  
  
Tristan turned around, not surprised at all to see her. He had heard her jump down from the wagon and walk closer to him and his steed. "Yes," he nodded. "Should you really be up and walking around so much?" he asked her. Adima sensed by the tone of his voice that he didn't want company.  
  
"I'm fine," she said bitterly. "If you want me to leave, I will."  
  
"Oh, no, don't leave on my account," Tristan said calmly. Adima frowned, a little confused.  
  
She slowly approached the large dapple grey from behind. "Stay away from his back end," Tristan scolded. His voice wasn't harsh, but stern.  
  
"Sorry," Adima apologized. "I know little about horses; practically nothing."  
  
"If you want to pet Passebreul," Tristan instructed," you must approach him form the side."  
  
Adima heeded his word and stepped away from his back end. She made her way towards him again; this time from the side. "Horses have two blind spots," Tristan began. "One directly in front of them, and one directly behind them." He pointed a finger at the horse's head and then to its back end as he said this.  
  
Adima nodded, then cautiously held her hand out to pet the horse. She reached a little closer, not wanting to be too close to the intimidating animal. Tristan smiled slightly. "Do not be afraid," he said, stroking the horse's flank lovingly. "They can sense fear," he told her. "It will only upset a horse if they know you're upset."  
  
"That makes sense," Adima agreed quietly. Once she felt the horse's soft flank upon her hand, she moved a little closer. A proud smile crossed her face. Tristan only stood feet from her, adjacent to the horse's shoulder. He faced her, and she him, waiting for more advice. None came. He turned toward the horse again and fell silent.  
  
"Am I doing it right?" she asked for support.  
  
Tristan nodded. "If you pet him too lightly, he won't feel you through the thickness of his skin."  
  
Adima tried it a little harder. The horse snorted and turned its head to look at her, its wide nostrils flaring. Adima had patted him hard enough. "See, he knows you're here now," Tristan said approvingly.  
  
"He's beautiful," Adima said breathlessly. She felt the horse's muscles ripple under its skin. Passebreul leaned all his body weight to his right side and puffed out a warm cloud of air, his breath filling its lungs and pushing against his ribs. "What color do you call this?" she asked, running her fingers across the dark dappled spots on his side.  
  
"He is a dappled grey," Tristan told her. "Eighteen years old."  
  
"Is that old for a horse?"  
  
"It's fairly old," Tristan said; then he was silent.  
  
For a long several minutes, silence fell between them. Adima ran her delicate fingers under and on top of Passebreul's thick grey coat. The air was warm under his matted fur. "He's very soft," Adima broke the awkward silence. Tristan still said nothing, just nodded slightly. "He's very big, too," she mentioned. "His legs are long- far from the ground," Adima smiled, sheepishly, remembering falling off his back end during her first encounter with Tristan.  
  
Tristan smiled, remembering that day too.  
  
"I apologize for that, Passabreul." Adima buried her hands under the horse's long silver mane. She now stood adjacent to the horse's shoulder and Tristan had moved in front of the animal. The horse bobbed its head contently and blinked its round black eyes.  
  
"We better let him rest now," Tristan gave him one last pat on the cheek before departing.  
  
Adima followed. "He sleeps standing?"  
  
"If he's not comfortable with his surroundings, yes," Tristan kept walking at a slow pace; knowing Adima couldn't walk exceedingly fast.  
  
"I like horses," Adima said smiling. She felt a strange awkwardness filter within her. Tristan remained silent.  
  
"So, you're one of Arthur's knights?" Adima asked warily. Tristan nodded.  
  
He walked over to a large root emerging from the powdered ground. He dusted it off with his hands and sat down. Adima did the same with a nearby root.  
  
"You knights are supposed to be brave and noble, selfless warriors," Adima said adjusting her weight on the make shift seat. "Sounds like a tough job."  
  
Tristan again had nothing to say; he smiled faintly, but Adima could not tell for it was so subtle.  
  
"My father says you and the others were taken away from your families at a young age; is this true?"  
  
Tristan's face filled with sorrow as he reflected on the day when he left his home and family to join Arthur and his knights. Adima noted the sadness in his eyes; she felt sorry for him. "Yes, it's true. We were taken from our families. Many of us will never return to them." Tristan's eyes gazed up to the sky, then his gaze fell upon Adima who squirmed slightly, feeling a little uncomfortable.  
  
"How old were you?" Adima asked.  
  
"We were all in our early teens," he frowned. "I don't remember my exact age."  
  
"When will you go home?" Adima asked hopefully.  
  
Tristan shrugged. "I can't be sure until it happens, and I'm there." He tried his best to avert eye contact with Adima, and she noticed, feeling ever more insecure and a little frustrated with him.  
  
"It is a dangerous job then?" Adima frowned.  
  
"It is a dangerous duty, but one that must be fulfilled."  
  
Adima thought a moment about how many knights must have been lost throughout the years. There must have been many; many who will never return home. "Yes," Adima whispered, slightly mystified.  
  
"Well, that's I think the most I've ever heard you talk at one point in time, Tristan," Bors laughed, coming out from behind the tree, a bundle of sticks in his hands. Tristan ignored his comment. "I've got some firewood here, friends," he said cheerfully. "We'll be lighten' a fire over there," he pointed to where the other four knights sat in a circle; Arthur wasn't there.  
  
He turned his head to Tristan who was silent and who stared into the distant beyond; into nothingness. Bors didn't seem surprised. He turned to Adima. "What about you, miss? Will ye be joinin' us this fine evenin'?"  
  
Adima smiled, actually gratefully for the offer. She was about to say yes, when she noticed Tristan looking into the air. "I'll stay here, thanks," she said finally.  
  
Bors shrugged his brawny shoulders. "Alright then," he said. "Ye can join us if ye want," he walked away.  
  
"You don't have to stay on my account," Tristan said humbly.  
  
Adima sighed. "I can't stay on your account, I can't leave on your account- I can't do anything on your account can I?" she smiled.  
  
The silent scout remained silent. Adima frowned. "Where's your hawk?" she asked trying to break the awkward silence once more.  
  
"Hunting," Tristan answered blankly.  
  
"Oh," Adima smiled, happy to know she wouldn't be left hanging any longer.  
  
"Adima?" Adima heard Guinevere call her name.  
  
"Yes?" she and Tristan both looked up as Guinevere appeared in front of them. She gracefully glided across the snow to Adima.  
  
"Forgive me for intruding," she said to Tristan. "Adima, the bath is ready for us."  
  
Adima turned to Tristan who was lightly blushing. "Good night Tristan," she nodded. He faintly nodded back and Adima turned to leave with her sister.  
  
As the sky grew darker, an icy wind rolled through the land, frosting the trees and freezing the lakes and rivers. Tristan's tiny fire swayed with the blowing of the wind. He sat on a large tree root in the small camp set up for the night by the serfs and the knights. His hawk sat near him on a smaller root, ripping pieces of flesh off a small rodent. Other than his feathered companion, Tristan was usually found alone, aloof form the other knights.  
  
Adima and Guinevere sat in small bathing tubs filled with steamed water in the wagon. Two serf women bathed them with washing cloths, delicately running the soothing clothes down their backs.  
  
"Guinevere, you're so thin," Adima frowned, noticing her sister's stunning weight loss.  
  
"They don't feed you much in those torture chambers," Guinevere frowned. "Adima, I don't think I ever thanked you, for coming here and trying to rescue me."  
  
Adima blushed. "Arthur got to you first; he's the one who saved you."  
  
"But you came anyway," Guinevere smiled. "Thank you. I'm glad you're here with me. This trip back would be awful lonely if it were just me and Lucan."  
  
"You have Arthur," Adima teased. "He and you talk surprisingly often."  
  
Guinevere smiled faintly. "He'd a good man," she said sincerely. "They all are; all the knights."  
  
"They are still our enemies," Adima protested.  
  
"They are our saviors," Guinevere corrected her somewhat dreamily. "Arthur and his knights saved my life. "I don't see them as enemies anymore; at least not ours."  
  
Adima thought about this for a moment. "They have done nothing to harm me, so of course I have nothing against them."  
  
"They kill Woads, Guinevere. They tried to kill me."  
  
"But they stopped once they realized you had only come for me, not to kill them," Guinevere scolded. "Didn't they?"  
  
"Yes, that's true," Adima frowned. Her sister was right.  
  
"So forgive them," Guinevere looked her sister in the eye.  
  
Adima nodded," I suppose I shall."  
  
(a/n: Well, what do you think? Sorry again for the delay) Sorry, this story was put on hold for a little while because of technical difficulties. Anyway, I thought I would go ahead and introduce myself, I am Justice3, ModestySparrow's main co – writer. So if there are any major problems with the story direct your comments specifically to me, and I will answer, and/or fix anything I can. Thanks, and enjoy!!! 


	4. An Emotional Ride

(a/n: Ok, sorry this took so long, I had to see the movie again before I wrote anymore. Lol, I saw it today and that made me very happy! Ugh, I also changed the 3rd chpt. A little bit. It sounds better now, but it's still pretty much the same, just a little different wording and basically Adima is a little less resenting of the knights. Lol, so far I've seen the movie 3 times and the last two times, I took notes which was weird, but I kinda had to cuz I can't remember anything. I'm sure y'all really care...lol. Ok, well thanx again for all the reviews. I love 'em! I probably won't post the next chapter for a while cuz I got horse camp this next week but it's only a week long and I'll bring a notebook and a pen so I can write in my spare time. Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to bring my CD player which stinks beyond all stinky ness cuz I then I won't be able to listen to my inspiring Celtic music. Darn! Ok, well, enjoy the chapter and plz review!)  
  
Chapter 4: An Emotional Ride  
  
The dim sunlight could barley be seen through the heavy grey clouds in the sky. Light snowflakes began to fall. Adima's feet crunched softly as she walked through the several inches of freshly fallen snow that had fallen the night before.  
  
Adima noticed Tristan mounting onto his horse; he was just who Adima had been searching for. "Tristan," she called to him. Tristan turned his head to look at her. She walked up beside his horse. "Hello, Breul," she patted the horse on his neck. "Tristan," she began in a sweet tone. "I was wondering, could you-" she hesitated a moment, staring at Passebreul. "Could you teach me to ride?"  
  
Tristan looked at her a little stunned; he was not expecting her to ask this. When he didn't answer right away, Adima began to grow more and more nervous. She hated silence. She looked down at the footprints she'd made in the snow and fidgeted with her grey-blue dress.  
  
"I could teach you to ride," Tristan finally said, firmly. Adima smiled at him, glad he finally spoke. She was also glad that he agreed to teach her. "It takes years of practice to learn to ride well," Tristan sighed. "But, I could teach you to stay on with out falling off."  
  
"Well, that would be a nice start," Adima grinned. She couldn't quite tell by the tone of his voice, however, if he was joking or not. She tried to look pleased but it seemed to her that Tristan was just doing this out of guilt for what had happened earlier. She didn't want him to be nice to her because of that-well, not just that. She smiled at the thought of her on a giant strong horse like Passebreul.  
  
"Fine then," Adima scratched the horse's neck, kindly. Tristan watched her, surprised by her will to learn more about horses.  
  
"Fine," Tristan said, holding out his arm as his hawk landed swiftly on it. Passebreul sidestepped slightly, unnerved by the hawk's sudden landing.  
  
"When shall we begin?" Adima asked hoping he wouldn't suddenly change his mind, which it looked like he might do.  
  
"I will be scouting ahead most of the day," Tristan looked straight ahead as his hawk flew over the caravan, startling some serfs as they readied themselves to leave. "When I return, your lesson will begin."  
  
"It's deathly boring, you know," she stared him in the eye, trying to hold him to his words without speaking. "Sitting around all day, traveling in that wagon," she turned her gaze to the wagon where her sister was already sitting down in.  
  
"Is it?" Tristan asked without any emotion. He looked directly in front of him and Adima wasn't sure if he'd even heard a word of what she had just said. She eyed him suspiciously. A little voice in her head told her to scream, 'Saxon' just to get his attention, but she refrained, though smiling at the idea.  
  
Tristan looked down at her to see her smiling, not sure why. Adima tilted her head innocently still pondering the idea and staring off into space. "If you get bored," Tristan offered. "Sleep."  
  
With that, he kicked his horse in the side, and they trotted off forward, ahead of the caravan.  
  
"Sleep?" Adima asked aloud. "Sleeping is boring," she slowly walked back towards the wagon to her sister.  
  
Tristan quickly turned his head around and watched as Adima climbed into the wagon and sat down beside her sister. An unexpected thought crossed his mind. He had something to look forward to at the end of the day.  
  
Scouting ahead of the rest of the caravan, several miles in front of them, Tristan suddenly spoke to his feathered companion that clung tightly to his arm. "What do you think, eh?" he asked with his slightly accented voice.  
  
The hawk turned her head to him at the sound of his voice, but didn't respond. "Should I teach her then?" he smiled. The hawk screeched slightly. "Is that a yes?" Tristan asked suspiciously.  
  
Tristan was a distant man; his aloofness had always been part of his nature. The knights knew him well enough to understand his desire for seclusion, but Adima did not. Adima did annoy him to an extent, but yet, he found he rather enjoyed her company. "She is beautiful," Tristan whispered to his hawk who turned her head to him again. She eyed him, mystified by the soothing sound of his voice.  
  
Passebreul trotted along the snowy path at an even, steady pace. Tristan patted his neck relaxingly with his hand holding the reins. His hawk screeched. "What?" Tristan asked it. "Are you hungry? It was getting rather late in the day. "Go eat," he commanded, raising his arm to the sky. He felt a heavy weight being lifted from his arm as the hawk took flight. She circled him a while before turning away towards the woods to search for dinner.  
  
Tristan looked on as she disappeared from view behind the many tall treetops surrounding him in all directions. He frowned and sighed, still thinking about Adima. He tried to push her out of his mind, but to no avail. Every time he tried to focus on something else, he kept on seeing her face in his mind.  
  
He looked all around the snow path; and around him; it was safe. Arthur and the rest of the caravan should find it not difficult to travel through this land on the next day. He turned Passebreul around, knowing it was getting late and that he should be back to the caravan to report back to Arthur soon.  
  
The sun was about to set by the time he got back to the caravan. A great smile crossed Adima's face when she saw him talking with Arthur at the head of the caravan. She saw Arthur nodding and then Tristan walked his horse slowly towards her. The caravan had already stopped for the night, and Adima was feeling beyond restless.  
  
Gawain and Bors went out into the woods to hunt for dinner.  
  
"You remembered," Adima smiled when Tristan trotted forward to her. Tristan nodded and dismounted, stepping down onto the fresh snow lightly. He held Passebreul's reins tightly in his hand.  
  
He cleared his throat a little nervously. Very few people made Tristan nervous, and Adima was one of them. Perhaps it was due to the effort she put in just to speak with him. Tristan was used to having women like him, and act this way towards him, but Adima was a Woad, something totally different than the other women he'd shrugged off in the past.  
  
Something that scared him was that he felt at peace around her. He barely knew her, but he knew it since their second meeting. He was surprised to see her for the second time and he knew that day, if one of the knights was going to kill her, it would be him, and so he could look at her face one more time. Perhaps this strange feeling within him too was part of his decision to let her go at the end of the first battle where they crossed blades. Normally, he wouldn't have taken pity on her, or let her go. If it were another Woad, he would have killed her instantly, giving her no second chances at life. But it wasn't another Woad he fought that day; it was her.  
  
"What are those?" Adima asked, suddenly breaking the nerving silence between them. Tristan snapped back to reality, emerging from his distant thoughts. Adima pointed to the leather reins Tristan held in his hand.  
  
"Reins," Tristan said quickly. "They, umm," you use them to guide your horse; tell him where to go; or stop if that's what you want him to do. You can also use them to whip your horse, if they're long enough." Tristan held them up closer to Adima, making sure she could see them. "With reins, you'll have better control over your horse." Adima nodded, taking in all that he was saying. Tristan then explained to her the names and uses of the horse's tack and main behavior. Adima listened closely, nodding every now and then to let Tristan know she was hearing what he was saying.  
  
Gawain stood and watched them from the campfire he had set up not far from them. He shook his head wondering what the Woad was getting herself into.  
  
"Now, Tristan began, placing Adima's hand on the horse's reins. "Take these, and I'll help you mount." Adima nodded and took the reins in her hand. "Put your foot in the stirrup-your left foot."  
  
Gawain smiled when he saw Adima having trouble with sticking her foot in the stirrup. The stirrup was high off the ground, and it was hard for her for reach her leg up. She finally slid her foot into the stirrup, and Tristan boosted her other foot upwards. "Now swing that foot around," he instructed sternly. Adima swung her leg around to the horse's other side. Tristan walked behind the horse and to its other side to make sure Adima was able to place her right foot into the right stirrup. He helped push her foot forward into the stirrup.  
  
"Now, when you ride," Tristan held tightly onto the horse's long mane for safety. "You must sit up straight," Adima quickly sat up as straight as possible. "You must keep your heels down," Adima pushed her heels down as far as they would go. Tristan let go of Passebreul's mane and paced around the horse, checking to make sure all his tack was rightly in place. "Keep your hands here," Tristan grabbed Adima's hands and slid them forward, closer to the horse's neck then they had been. "Try to keep your hands still," he let go and backed away.  
  
Adima grew tense with nervousness. She thought she would fall off; she was sure she would. "Maybe you should hold on," she offered shakily. Passebreul took a few steps forward.  
  
Tristan grabbed part of his horse's reins. "Now," he said kindly. "He won't go running off unless he's frightened. "If you insist, I'll hold onto him with you." Adima nodded her head, thinking this was a very good plan. "I'm going to walk him now," Tristan warned. "Hold on tight to the reins, and squeeze with your legs; not to hard, but enough so you'll stay on comfortably."  
  
"This isn't very comfortable," Adima complained, tightening her legs around Passebreul's stomach. A slight grin crossed Tristan's face.  
  
Adima could feel the powerful horse moving beneath her. Slowly, his body began to rise and fall as he took each step. She could feel him breathing heavily with her legs. She reminded herself to sit up straight and fixed her posture to do so.  
  
Tristan guided the horse to walk around in small circles at a slow pace. Adima's body swayed with the horse's every movement and she squeezed her legs tighter afraid she'd fall off. "You won't fall off," Tristan promised her, noticing the tight grip she had on the horse's stomach. Adima loosened her grip a little. Passebreul sighed heavily and snorted. "You're doing fine," Tristan assured her. Adima smiled at this compliment.  
  
Galahad, Lancelot, and Bors came to sit beside Gawain near the fire. Lancelot brought them a dead rabbit to roast on the spit. Dagonet and Lucan soon joined them.  
  
"Not bad for her first ride," Gawain pointed to Adima.  
  
"Has she fallen off yet?" Galahad asked.  
  
"No," Gawain answered.  
  
"She's better than you then," Dagonet smiled. Galahad frowned at his comment. Bors chuckled.  
  
Adima slowly began to relax, feeling more comfortable atop Passebreul. She smiled, proudly at how she was doing. She looked down to meet Tristan's gaze. She smiled and he smiled back. A soft wind blew through her hair, powdering it with light snowflakes. A warm sensation coursed through her body as she smiled down at Tristan. She didn't know what it was, but atop that horse, on that day, that very moment, she was truly happy.  
  
Guinevere walked up to the knights sitting around the small fire. She saw her sister smiling and it brought joy to her heart. She had not seen Adima smile this much in a long time, for her sister had been haunted by the dark cloud of death for many years. Guinevere couldn't help but crack a smile herself. Her sister's happiness was obviously contagious. Guinevere sat down beside Lancelot and joined the others in conversation.  
  
Passebreul's muscles rippled beneath him. Adima tightened her grip on the reins. "Can we go faster?" she asked sweetly.  
  
Tristan shook his head, "I don't think you're ready for that." He looked up at her.  
  
"What if you ride, too?" Adima's sweet tone sounded hopeful. Tristan stopped Passebreul in his tracks and the horse snorted.  
  
"You want me to ride with you?" he asked a little taken back.  
  
Adima nodded," yes, if you would."  
  
"Alright then," Tristan agreed a little apprehensively. "Take your feet out of the stirrups." Adima did as he commanded. Tristan put one foot in the stirrup and held onto the saddle with one hand. Adima watched as he pulled himself up and onto Passebreul's back. He sat behind her.  
  
Adima scooted as far forward as she cou  
  
ld and handed Tristan the reins behind her. Tristan clicked his tongue against his cheek and Passebreul trotted forward. Adima's body jolted slightly behind her at the sudden movement of the horse.  
  
"Oh, what are they doing now?" Gawain asked his friends suspiciously as he stared at Tristan and Adima.  
  
Adima laughed in enjoyment as the horse trotted forward. She squeezed her legs tightly around the horse. "Here, take the reins," Tristan handed them to her. Adima shakily accepted them, her hands bouncing up and down, uncontrollably with the horse's bouncy movements.  
  
"Won't you fall off?" Adima asked a little nervously.  
  
"No," Tristan answered. Adima was nervous on the horse, but still, she wanted more excitement.  
  
After a few more minutes of trotting up and down the line the caravan had made, she asked again. "Can we go faster?"  
  
"You sure you want to do this?" Tristan seemed skeptical. He thought she would have been scared off by now.  
  
"Yes," Adima called to him.  
  
"Hang on tight then," for a flash of a second Adima wanted to draw back her decision to go faster, but it was too late. Tristan kicked the horse into a slow canter, a little faster than the trot.  
  
Adima's body grew tense, but a bolt of excitement surged through her. They ran straight into the course of the wind, her hair twirling behind her. Light snowflakes fell on her face. She smiled in awe. This was one of the best feelings she'd ever felt. She imagined herself flying, as they slowly picked up speed. The sun set slowly behind them.  
  
Passebreul's canter was a smooth one, compared to other horses, and Adima felt herself gliding through the snow. She felt so free and her spirit was lifted in pure excitement. Her face grew cold in the icy wind, but it didn't bother her in the least; she barely noticed it.  
  
They rode past Arthur, swiftly. He smiled and shook his head as the two cantered past him.  
  
They finally came to a halt as the sky above them grew darker. Adima breathed deeply as Tristan helped her bring Passebreul to a stand still. Tristan dismounted first, then helped Adima to do the same.  
  
Adima smiled, happily. "Thank you," she said once her feet touched the soft ground beneath her. The insides of her legs felt stretched and hurt some, but she refused to let it show.  
  
Tristan grinned slightly. "Now you know what it's like to ride a horse the proper way," he said calmly.  
  
"Yes, now I do," Adima stared into his deep eyes somewhat dreamily. "That was" she paused a moment. "That was exhilarating."  
  
"Yes, it is," Tristan agreed. He took the horse by the reins, leading him away form Adima. She followed. "I have to walk him out," Tristan explained. "He must be cooled off before I can tie him up."  
  
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Adima asked.  
  
Tristan shook his head. "No, no, not that I can think of." Adima fell silent. "You can come with us, though, if you like." Adima smiled again.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Oh, just look at those two," Gawain nodded towards Adima and Tristan as they walked away with Passebreul.  
  
Bors chuckled. "Now, what's Tristan up to?"  
  
"Strange for him to be acting so kindly towards a Woad," Dagonet added, holding the limb of a roasted rabbit in his hand.  
  
"Yes," Lancelot muttered. "Very strange."  
  
"Well, goodnight," Tristan said once they had unsaddled Passebreul and tied him up. Adima and Tristan were walking past the wagon where she and Guinevere would sleep in makeshift tents made up of cloths and blankets that were tied to the sides of the wagon. Adima had already eaten before Tristan came to giver the riding lesson and she had told him that she wasn't hungry.  
  
She stepped inside the makeshift tent and turned to look at Tristan. "Goodnight," she echoed him, grinning. "I had fun today."  
  
Tristan smiled slightly, and took his leave, leaving Adima alone to fall asleep. Soon after he left, though, Guinevere joined her. They lay next to each other, covered in thick fur blankets.  
  
"You looked like you were having fun tonight," Guinevere said, resting her head on a pillow. She turned to Adima who was smiling.  
  
"I did have fun tonight," she assured Guinevere. "Tristan seems to be a nice man." She felt butterflies flutter around in her stomach as she spoke his name.  
  
Guinevere could tell in the warm tone of her sister's voice that Adima's mind was swarming with emotions. They quietly bid each other goodnight, and fell asleep.  
  
(a/n: Well, I hope you liked it. Just in case you didn't notice, I tried to emphasize the fact that Tristan has an awesomely sexy accent, or at least that he has an accent. I totally forgot he did until I saw the movie the second time and I was like, hey, that's cool. Lol, so yeah, just remindin' you all...yeah...ok, bye!  
  
-Modesty) 


	5. A Premonition and More

_**(a/n: OMG! I am SO sorry this is so late. I was grounded from the computer for two weeks, and then I went on a small vacation with my family and never got a chance to go on the computer. Please forgive me! Ok, since schools starting tomorrow, and now I'm only allowed one hour on the computer each day, the story is gonna move on a little slower, but don't worry about me and Justice3 not finishing it- we will. The next chapter will probably up in a week or so, but don't be surprised if there are some delays. Thanks for hangin in there for us. Please review. Enjoy! -Modesty) **_

Chapter 5: A Premonition and More

Tristan's hawk soared gracefully through the sky, the cool breeze floating beneath its long russet wings. It screeched and flapped its wings elegantly. Very little snow fell from the sky and the hawk could see clearly in all directions around her, even in the darkness of night. She soared above the crisp white treetops and the snowy peaks of the mountainside.

Below her, she could also see the slightest movement of the whitest rabbit hopping above the snow. Her glazed black eyes darted across the land and her charming gaze fell upon an army of Saxons. She screeched a warning to them, sensing they would be trouble. She swooped down closer to them to get a better view. Most of them were clothed in thick furs and thick boots. They were highly armed, marching on into the darkness of war.

They were not far from Arthur's caravan, and they moved swiftly an entire mass of them, their numbers great and their leader, strong. The hawk flew above them, soaring through the sky with dignity and grace.

One soldier looked up at the hawk and smiled, knowing she soon would soon be home. Her story was on the verge of unfolding.

The moonlight stained the sky as the hawk gained in elevation and soared to higher heights, flying swiftly through the air back to her master.

Tristan galloped through the forest. He pulled back slightly on his horse's reins and slowed down to a steady trot. Passebreul flicked his ears back when he saw Tristan's hawk hovering overhead. Tristan saw her too, and he held out his arm to one side for her to land on. As she landed, she gripped his arm tightly with her sharp talons. Tristan urged his horse onward and they made their way through the forest at an even slower pace.

No sign of the Saxons, and Tristan had been riding for hours. It was his job as a scout to see how far behind they were. With one hand, he pulled his hair out of his face and then patted the side of Passebreul's damp neck. The bright stars were clustered above him.

Tristan walked his horse for another few minutes, cooling him off. With still no sign of the Saxons, he decided to turn around. His hawk screeched, gathering his attention to a small cliff overhanging a long valley beside the woods. He dug his heels into his horse's sides and Passebreul trotted onward towards it. Tristan dismounted and carefully walked to the edge of the cliff, leaning over to see what was below it. He could hear his horse breathing heavily behind him.

Several miles below him, Tristan spotted a sea of marching Saxons. He guessed there were approximately 200 hundred of them. His ears could barely catch the sound of distant drumming. "They're less than a day behind us," he whispered to his feathered companion.

His hawk then screeched and took flight. Tristan turned around, his senses alert. He slowly pulled out his throwing knife from his breastplate.

The air was still; the trees were still. Passebreul shifted his weight to one side and turned his head around to his right and pawed the ground in trepidation, his nostrils flaring and his eyes wide. Tristan noted his body language, which meant something was in the woods. Passebreul filled his lungs with air and exhaled deeply in a nervous sigh.

Tristan suspiciously eyed his surroundings, looking all around him for some sign of movement. The soft crunching of snow or the stroke of fingers on a crossbow would be an indication that Tristan wasn't alone in the woods.

His high-keyed senses on alert, Tristan could here the slight stretching sound of an arrow being stretched across a bow. Tristan's eyes darted to the direction of the sound far away in the trees.

A single arrow sailed through the air, stopping abruptly in Tristan's left arm. He winced in pain, but refused to allow it to distract him now. He ignored the throbbing pain in his shoulder as if it never was there at all.

A second arrow, then three more sailed towards him but he quickly stepped out of their paths, avoiding getting hit a second time. Four armed Saxon scouts leaped out from behind a cluster of trees quite a distance from Tristan.

Tristan gripped his knife tightly and breathed softly, concentrating at his target as he ran madly at him. The first Saxon yelled furiously as he ran, picking up speed. He held his empty crossbow in one hand and a long sword in the other. The other three also came charging towards Tristan, madly. Their swords were unsheathed and they were prepared to fight.

Tristan thrust his arm forward, letting go of his knife. It turned in circles in the air and sunk itself deep in the first Saxon's neck. He fell over, dead.

The three remaining Saxons finally reached him; Tristan's sword was at the ready. He studied his opponents for a moment, and they did the same. Tristan, gripping his sword tightly with one hand, caressed his fingers along the handle.

One Saxon rushed forward, holding his sword high above his head. Tristan thrust his sword into his stomach and quickly jerked it back, out of him. The second and third Saxons both attacked Tristan at once. One cut him across the arm; he faced this one and kicked his leg up, hitting him in the chest and knocking him down.

The other Saxon brought his sword down, almost hitting Tristan, but Tristan raised his sword to him, pulling out a second knife from his belt and jabbing into the man's belly.

The Saxon that had fallen, picked himself up, looked at his dead kin, and scowled angrily. He roared ferociously and attacked Tristan again, who quickly blocked the man's attempt to behead him, sticking his knife into his chest. The man stepped backward, the knife still in him. He dropped his sword and pulled the knife out of his chest, smiling menacingly. Tristan glared at him with hatred. The man was about to throw the knife at Tristan, when Tristan attacked, beheading the man instantly.

Tristan wiped the sticky sweat from his forehead and pushed the long dark hair out of his face, breathing heavily. He walked up to the nearest tree and leaned his body against it as he carefully pulled the arrow out of his throbbing arm. It certainly wasn't the worst wound he'd received in battle. He covered his arm back up with his sleeve and made his way through the four dead Saxons, pulling his knives out of two of them. He also picked up the first Saxon's crossbow to prove to Arthur how close their enemies were getting to them.

He put the arrow in a long pocket on his horse's saddle and mounted, holding the Saxon's bow with one hand and gripping the reins with the other. He clicked his tongue quietly and nudged Passebreul with his heels. The horse turned around under Tristan's command and they headed back for the caravan, miles ahead of them.

By the time he'd reached the caravan, the sun was up high in the sky. He could here some commotion as he entered the wakeful camp. Tristan wondered what was going on. He could see Arthur and the others. He saw Guinevere and Adima standing close together, Guinevere holding a bow and arrow.

Marius lay dead on the snowy ground, an arrow through his chest. Arthur was talking to two of Marius' guards that had seemingly failed their job.

"You have a choice," Arthur explained to them; Tristan noted the urgency in his voice. "You can help, or you can die," he threatened. Bors, atop his steed, kept the guards in place. The guards gave up their weapons, submitting to Arthur's rule.

"Arthur," Tristan trotted his horse forward, his need to peek with him urgent. "Saxon scouts," he said throwing the crossbow on the ground. "They're less than a day behind us."

Adima looked up at Tristan, noticing his sleeve was wet with blood. Her eyes shifted to Arthur, then to her sister to see if either of them had noticed too; they hadn't.

"How many did you kill?" Bors asked Tristan, smiling.

"Four," Tristan spoke with an even tone in his voice.

"Not a bad start to the day," Bors chuckled.

"Tristan, ride ahead; clear the path," Arthur instructed. "Come, we must keep moving."

Tristan saw Lucan holding Dagonet's hand, frightened. He kicked his horse forward and took a quick glance at Adima, meeting her gaze. Clearing the rest of the caravan, his trot quickened into a steady canter as he ran down the path the others were about to take, checking it for safety precautions.

A light cascade of snow poured from the sky. Adima watched two children playing around the small campfire made by Gawain and Galahad. The children's parents remained to be seen.

Gawain, Bors, Dagonet, Lucan, Adima, and Galahad all sat around the fire on tiny logs they'd found lying about in the woods. Gawain stood up and turned the thin stick laden with a small dead rabbit as it roasted in the flames of the fire.

"Looks like its almost done," he said sitting down.

"This won't be enough to feed everyone," Adima stated somewhat nervously. She looked to Gawain for an answer.

"That's why we've got another," Lancelot said as he and Guinevere appeared form the woods. Lancelot carried a larger dead rabbit by the ears. Guinevere smiled and stood next to her sister.

"Ahh, there you are," said Galahad. "I thought you two got lost somewhere," he grinned.

Guinevere put her hand on Adima's shoulder. "Where's Arthur?"

Lancelot's expression turned to that of jealousy when he heard Guinevere mention Arthur's name. Adima's eyes flicked form her sister to his and she noted the quick change in his expression. She ignored his transparent thoughts and turned her attention fully to her sister. "He's over there, somewhere," she said pointing to the main body of the camp. This was where all the wagons were parked and the serfs tried to sleep for the night, lying on thin blankets, if they had some.

"Thank you," Guinevere said, and she walked off towards the direction of which Adima was pointing. Adima turned her gaze back to Lancelot who was now sitting down near the warmth of the fire, the light of it reflecting off his hollow cheeks.

Adima sat quietly in the shadows of the tree behind her. Gawain picked at the blade of his axe with a sharp rock in order to sharpen it. She was deeply immersed in thought and her mind was too clouded to think of anything else. Her thoughts were focused on none other than Tristan.

It was getting late, and he still hadn't gotten back from scouting; at least not that she knew. Worry for him engulfed her. She pondered the idea that he had been attacked by Woads or perhaps Saxons and couldn't fight them due to his wounded arm. This paranoia of worried annoyed Adima, but the looming threat of Tristan hurt lingered freshly in her mind.

The joyous laughter of children broke her from her thoughts; strange, though nothing else did. She watched, a pleasant smile on her face, as the two children she had seen days before, played by the glowing light of the fire.

Each of them had a thin, long stick they were using to fight with, pretending them to be deadly weapons. The little girl, who was obviously a few years older than her little brother, jabbed him in the chest with the stick, knocking him over.

The little boy stared at her a moment, then picked himself up. In the back of her senses, Adima could here the knights emerged in conversation, but she paid most of her attention to the kids. _Where were their parents?_ she thought. _Why were they always alone?_

The girl gripped her stick tightly, and caught her brother off guard by knocking the stick out of his hands. The boy stood there, not knowing what to do at first. His sister backed off and he reached for his sword.

Shivers ran down Adima's spine. A cool breeze floated past her. A horse whinnied in the distance. She turned around, but saw nothing. She looked around her at the knights. She appeared to be the only one disturbed by these occurrences. Something felt strange to her, but she knew not what.

She turned her gaze back to the children just as the little girl scrapped the stick across her brother's chest, knocking him over again. He fell to the ground and laid there, still.

"Tristan!" called Gawain. Adima looked up. Tristan was leading his horse away from them to tie up near the other horses. Adima smiled. "Tristan, come sit with us!" Gawain requested cheerfully. Tristan appeared tired, and Adima noticed he was leading his horse with a different hand than usual.

She quickly turned back to the children. The little boy's sister kindly helped him to his feet and they continued playing with the wooden sticks. Adima stood up immediately and followed Tristan.

Tristan was tying Passebreul to a tree when Adima reached him. She approached the horse the way she was taught to, slowly, from the left side. "Hello," she said with a friendly tone.

Tristan looked at her but refrained from speaking. He simply nodded and continued with his business. Adima tried to think of something else to say, but it seemed the words were stolen from her.

She noticed Tristan digging his hands under the horse's saddle, preparing to lift it off its back. "Here," Adima reached under the back end of the saddle with one hand, knocking Tristan's out of the way. "Let me help. You're hurt," she slightly blushed, half regretting her sudden offer.

"It's heavy," Tristan warned, and together, they lifted the saddle form Passebreul's back, setting it down lightly on the ground. They then set it upright and leaned it against the tree.

Adima stepped back a moment, catching her bearing. She smiled to herself; the saddle was heavy, but she was glad she could help.

"Thank you," Tristan said quietly.

"What are you going to do about that wound?" Adima wondered aloud.

"I'll clean it," Tristan explained.

"Do you need any help?" Adima asked sweetly. Tristan remained silent. He made his way around the horse and started walking away from the animals. He pulled out his water skin. "My help?" Adima stopped him in his tracks. He looked at her not sure of how to respond. No one ever baffled him so much as she did. Adima felt a surge of bravery course through her. She suddenly felt confident with herself.

She stared Tristan right in the eye. "Let me help you," she insisted firmly. With yet again, no reply, Adima took this as her hint to do so as she wished. "Come," she said calmly.

Tristan followed her to the wagon she'd been traveling in and watched, his mind filled with thoughts of confusion, as Adima picked out a pair of small grey cloths to clean his wound with. He turned around, standing by the side of the wagon.

It was dark there, and quiet. Adima then appeared from his left, holding the two cloths in her hand. She smiled at Tristan hopefully as she approached him. Tristan let out a subtle sigh. He was nervous, and didn't know quite what to do. Again, the thought of Adima's heritage loomed like a dark cloud in his mind.

He felt a little guilt for these feelings. He didn't want to stop her however as she neared him. What was he getting himself into? _She's a Woad_, he reminded himself once more. But for some reason, part of him didn't care anymore.

He didn't resist as she gripped the bottom of his sleeve lightly with her fingers and rolled it gently up his muscular arm. Inside, her body was tense from nervousness, as was his. Adima took slow, light breaths, and concentrated heavily on the wound.

Adima grimaced slightly when she looked upon the open wound. It looked painful. There was a small, rounded hole, penetrating deep into the front of his shoulder. Dark dried blood encrusted the hole in which the arrow pierced him.

The stars twinkled brightly overhead and the moon illuminated the sky with an ethereal light that would sooth the soul. Tristan remained as still and silent as possible as Adima cleaned his wound. He gave her his water skin and she wet one cloth with the cool water that poured from it. She caressed the wound softly with the cloth and the cool water felt good to Tristan. His muscles trembled beneath his skin and Adima tried to stabilize her hands from shaking with tension. She slowly was able to relax herself. She breathed deeply, taking her time, slowly to clean the wound properly.

The grey cloth was now stained with light hints of blood. Adima would have wished to break the deathly silence, but she couldn't find the right words to say at the moment. Her throat seemed to have been walled up, and the words could not escape her.

"There," she finally pushed out, almost breathlessly. She laid the bloodstained cloth on the ground, and wrapped the dried one around his shoulder. Stepping back a little, she observed his arm, approving her work. "That should help," she added slowly, moving forward again.

Tristan rolled his brown sleeve back down again. "Thank you," Tristan smiled. Adima smiled too glad he had spoken.

She moved a little closer to him, catching her breath. Tristan remained still, swallowing hard. A warm sensation coursed through his body. His muscles tensed and his eyes were fixed on Adima's soft face. For a moment, a feeling of peace washed over him, but then, his thoughts took a vital turn.

"Adima," she paused at the urgent sound in his voice. "I-I," he stumbled over his words. Adima felt as though weights were being lifted on her heart. She could tell in the tone of his voice, something was wrong. "I can't," Tristan whispered. The weights dropped.

Tristan looked for one quick moment into Adima's pitiful glossy eyes before turning away, without another word.

Adima just stood there in silence; she made no attempt to reconcile. A cool wind whipped her hair from behind, curling it against her ears and the sides of her face. She was shocked by his words, but she tried to calm herself, as much as it hurt.

She wondered why he left her, and considered chasing after him, but she did not. She stood alone in the snow, as tiny specks of ice fell from the sky like a light rain.

**(a/n: Justice3 – Okay, I am so sorry, and even though ModestySparrow has a perfectly good excuse for not finishing this a lot sooner, I really don't. So I am sorry that this took so long. I will push to get Chapter 6 out to you asap!!!!!)**


	6. A Heart Changed, A Heart Mended

**(a/n: Ok, sorry this is so late. Like I said before, I've been busy with school lately for please forgive me. Hopefully you'll like the chapter. It's kind of a short interlude and the next chapter should be up soon. Please review and give me any suggestions you may have or comments. Thanks for the reviews so far. Enjoy! **

**-Modesty) **

Chapter 6: A Heart Changed, a Heart Mended

The sky belonged to the night and the stars had risen high in it, glistening in the blue beyond with silvery twinkles of light that reflected upon the earth in a peaceful glow. Mirrored in glowing embers were the dancing red flames of a small campfire.

Tristan sat down gloomily beside it, sheltered by its luminescent light. He had been about walking through the decollate trees of the forest for quite some time. The deep words he had so recently spoken pounded like drums in his ears. A shallow pit of regret had already begun deepening within his heart and the heart wrenching sight of Adima's saddened face echoed in his busily kept mind.

He was so lost in thought; he didn't notice Gawain stumbling in the dark towards the light of the fire. "Tristan," Gawain's voice was soft; he must have been sleepy for he looked it to Tristan. "What, what are you doing up so late?"

"Couldn't sleep," Tristan muttered, looking off into the dim distance at the wagon in which Adima was trying herself to get some peaceful sleep. Tristan's eyelids grew heavy, and he stared down, avoiding Gawain's awakening gaze.

Gawain blinked heavily; the light of the fire hurt his eyes for he had indeed just woken form his slumber. A dream had awoken him.

In this dream, he had seen a Saxon standing before him, silvery blue eyes fixed on his every move in the heat of battle. The Saxon approached him slowly and suddenly was sinking in a pool of water. Without a single sound to be heard, Gawain reached down and pulled the Saxon free of the water's tight grasp upon her waist. It was at this point that he had awoken, unnerved by what he had just seen in his mind.

"I had the strangest dream," Gawain began in a daze. Tristan turned to him blankly; the lateness of the night was beginning to tire him. Gawain noticed in the back of his mind that Tristan didn't appear all that interested in what he was saying, but his lack of sleep drove him to not care, or at least, forget this immediately, and he began telling Tristan of his strange dream.

Adima grumbled in her half sleep. A chilling cold seared up her legs and subconsciously she realized her legs were no longer covered by the blankets she and Guinevere were sharing. Her fingers reached around her, her eyes shut tight, searching blindly for the warm covers.

She grumbled again when she failed to find them and slowly opened her tired eyes. Everything around her lacked the glow of light, and she could barely make out her sleeping sister next to her, covered comfortably in their blankets.

"Guinevere," she mumbled angrily, snatching up the covers from her sister. By the time she had wrapped herself in them again, however, she had almost fully awoken.

She stared blankly up at the top of the wagon, remembering again, with pain, her earlier confrontation with Tristan. She wanted to go back to sleep if she could and forget all about it; but her mind it seemed, wouldn't let her.

As she lay quietly, she heard muffled voices of the night. Her ears began picking up the sounds of Gawain's and Tristan's slowly progressing conversation. She now was fully awake and listening intently to what they had to say. It was hard to hear every word but she was able to make out most of them if she strained her ears hard enough to hear.

"Tristan, I don't think I've ever seen you look so down," Gawain teased half-heartedly, after realizing, as strange as his dream was to him, Tristan didn't care at all what it was about or what he was saying. He tried to direct the conversation to something Tristan would hopefully respond to.

Tristan finally converted his blank expression to that of a sullen one. "Ahh," he muttered somewhat frustrated. "Adima," he stopped there not really wanting to talk about it.

"Oh," Gawain gave a little laugh. "Women," he smiled. "I see how it is. They can be trouble can't they?" he asked playfully.

"Aye," Tristan agreed, putting a little more effort into the conversation. "And Woads."

Gawain laughed at this concluding comment. "It has nothing to do with the race," he said, smiling. "Women are women; you have to let that be and take the prettiest one you can find; or that'll have you," he joked.

Tristan gave the slightest hint of a smile at this.

"So what's the trouble?" Gawain continued.

It took a while for Tristan to answer this. He had already begun to realize that Adima was not at fault for their earlier, less positive confrontation. It was indeed he, who would bring their relationship to an end, and may already have if his racial ways continued.

"Maybe it's my fault," he slowly admitted. Gawain frowned, now understanding somewhat what may have happened. He and the other knights had long known about Tristan's passionate hate for Woads. Most surely didn't expect he would give that up for the sake of a romance with one, but Gawain had hope for them, being a strict believer in true love himself, and seeing potential all around the two.

"Want to tell me what happened between you two?" Gawain asked a little more seriously now.

"She tried to kiss me," Tristan said slowly. "And I told her no," he sighed. "Maybe I was wrong," he added shaking his head, regretting his former notion.

"Because she's a Woad," Gawain added distastefully. "Tristan," he began to protest against Tristan's beliefs and perhaps try to mend his torn feelings and change his friend's mind.

Tristan's mind, however, was already changing. "I know, I know," Tristan scowled, unaware that Adima now had risen from her make-shift bed and was listening even closer to their conversation. "I was wrong," he admitted quietly.

"Do you love her?" Gawain asked forwardly.

Tristan was a little taken back by this sudden question given without warning; Gawain was prone to doing such things, as asking things without a hint or warning. He of course wasn't sure how to answer this.

"Tell me," Gawain smiled, pushing his friend into saying something.

"I feel for her," Tristan mumbled a little embarrassed. Gawain's smile grew and his jolly eyes sparkled, smelling a change of heart in the late night air. "I-I, don't know if I love her. I hardly know her."

"My mother loved me at birth," Gawain stated. "She didn't know a thing about me," he laughed.

Tristan scowled at this half joke. "Yes, but that's different."

"How?"

"Well, it's your mother; of course she loves you," Tristan spat, failing to see the humor in this.

Gawain chuckled at the seriousness Tristan always took things. The most lighthearted joke could bare a truly deep meaning to Tristan, and this highly amused some of the other knights, especially Gawain with his knack for jokes and cheery nature; and of course Bors who also was a big joker and lived life to make and watch people smile, among other things of course.

The light of the fire gave much needed warmth to the two knights as their conversation continued early into the morning, but Adima managed to stay warm enough where she was just by hearing the comforting words that were spoken by Tristan that night. Little more was mentioned about her and she was very well satisfied with all that she'd heard.

As the glow of the stars above began waning, the conversation came to an end, and all three people, weary form the night's events finally found themselves in wrapped in slumber's arms; Adima most comforted with a smile lit across her face as she closed her sleepy eyes and became a victim to the weariness of the night.

**(a/n: I hope you enjoyed! Please review. Thanks.) **


	7. Battle On the Ice

**A/N: Hello!!! Yes, I am still alive! I apologize immensely for the great delay! I have been SO busy with school and life! Ahh...the drama of friends and boys...anyhoo...also, my mom has to read and approve of my writing now before I can post it to make sure nothing's inappropriate, so that took a while. I've already written the next chapter though, so you can expect that pretty soon. Thanks for hangin in there with me. I will also reply to all my new reviews next time, but I REALLY need to just post this. Please, do continue to review...its what keeps me going. Thanks! **

Chapter 7: Battle on the Ice  
  
When morning dawned on the sleepy travelers, the caravan slowly awoke and was again on their way to the Roman Fort. Adima woke late and was not given a chance to converse with Tristan; in part, she avoided him. She hadn't thought of what she'd say to him when given the chance and she wanted some time to think upon it.

The dawdling caravan slowly made its way through the snowy path as the warm sun rose higher into the sky, partly hidden by silver clouds. Flurries of snow rained upon the weary travelers, causing their dimming spirits to slowly, and steadily crumble under the heavy weight of their tiring journey.

Arthur felt detached from it all; still as a statue he silently prayed to his God that the people would survive, from not only the Saxon army following them, but the treacherous elements as well.

He looked past the group to the path well ahead of him, hidden partially through the trees. Recognizing Tristan approaching by the swift pounding of Passebreul's hooves against the frozen earth, Arthur headed toward him.

"What have you seen?" Arthur asked warily with concern upon his frozen face. He only had to look at Tristan for a swift moment before realizing there was trouble ahead.

"A frozen lake-" Tristan began, looking his commander in the eye."Then we will go around it," Arthur interrupted. "It should not take long and hopefully there will be a path that will lead us closer to the wall," he really hoped that it was that simple."No, Arthur," Tristan explained. "There is no other way around. One side is covered by mountains too far to walk around, and the other is thicketed by trees. The Woads are there, and I don't think the wagons could fit through. There's hardly space to move," he added, depositing a concerned glare upon the caravan in front of him.

"The only way is to go over it. I've walked half the length; it should be safe enough." Arthur looked like he was about to protest. He definitely wasn't pleased by this news.

Tristan was silent for a moment, awaiting a reply or some orders. "I could look for another way around. Perhaps there is a far off hidden path leading-"

"No," Arthur shook his head. "We'll go through it. You're right; and we don't have enough time. These people won't last much longer in these conditions, and the weather's only getting worse."

Tristan smiled a little. "This will slow the Saxons down; we can use it to our advantage. It will take longer for them to cross."

At that very moment, both Tristan and Arthur turned their heads and looked toward them, at the distant sound of pounding drums.

Adima, again walking beside the wagon that carried her sister, heard the drums too. "You hear that?" she asked Guinevere.

"Yes," she said worriedly. "Saxons."

"They're close," Adima said somewhat shakily, her soft breaths leaving lingering puffs of air around her mouth. Adima instantly turned around and saw the little boy and girl looking behind them as well, a frightened glance upon the little boy's face. He was too young to understand what was coming, but the now growing tension among the serfs was quick to upset him.

Within a matter of minutes, the caravan reached the icy edge of the frozen lake. Hushed whispers fluttered through the befuddled crowd.

Arthur, presenting no fear of the ice, wandered abroad on his steed's back. He quickly dismounted, and his knights immediately did the same, following his silent order. The serfs huddled all together as the walls of the mountains around them left a vibrating echo of Saxon drums in the still, cold air.

Adima's eyes darted around searching for Tristan. She found him ahead on the ice with the others. Arthur turned. "Get them all out of the carriages," he commanded Jols, his good friend, and helper. "Tell them to spread out."

Jols turned to the people of the still caravan and instructed them to do so. Guinevere slid out of the wagon and crossed the ice to her sister. Everyone knew the ice was treacherous and were careful crossing and taking every step, for they knew it could be their last.

As Tristan and the knights turned, Adima quickly caught his eye with a frightened glare. Everyone who was seated upon an animal dismounted, and the wobbly carriages were emptied of people spreading out across the ice.

Adima held her breath tightly within her freezing chest as she heard the cracking of the ice beneath her. It moaned viciously under the weight of the caravan, sending fleeting looks of terror across the serfs' pale faces.

Horses whinnied wildly with fright, their riders attempting to calm them. Guinevere looked down at the breaking ground beneath her feet. Tiny spider-web like cracks spread swiftly through the ice's snow stained surface.

The Saxon drums echoed louder all around them. The knights looked at one another, now realizing what they must do. Arthur turned to them, gravely, but with confidence gleaming in his eyes. "Knights," he stared simply.

Guinevere stopped in her tracks, her eyes keen on Arthur. Adima stopped too. "What is it?" she asked worriedly, assuming Guinevere had noticed a weak spot in the ice.

As she noticed the concerned look upon her sister's face, Adima realized something was awry and she followed Guinevere's gaze. Without a single reply, Guinevere glided over to the wagon where she retrieved a spare bow and arrows that Arthur had hidden there. He had shown Guinevere and Adima where they were hidden so they could keep watch over the mercenaries' weapons.

Bors sighed. "Well, I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my ass is hurting."

Tristan scowled. "Never like looking over my shoulder anyway." Dagonet smirked in agreement.

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket," Gawain said, thinking of the drums pounding in his ears.

Galahad smiled. "We'll finally be able to look at the bastards."

Dagonet, getting ready to be done with this mess, began removing his weapons from his horse's saddle bags. "Here; now," he confirmed aggressively.

Lancelot shook his head disapprovingly. He didn't feel this was the opportune moment to face their haunting shadows. His eyes found Guinevere and he looked upon her dotingly as she started for them back from the wagon, with weapons in hand. His attention was swiftly pulled back to Arthur.

"Jols," Arthur commanded.

Jols turned and commanded the men standing behind him. "You two take the horses," he ordered. As Tristan handed over the reins of his horse, he gave the man a threatening glare. He wanted to make sure this man knew not to do wrong to his horse in his absence.

"You're not staying," Guinevere demanded coldly as Adima shadowed her across the ice, her own weapons in hand.

"Yes, I'm staying," Adima replied.

Guinevere stopped walking and turned to her sister. "You must stay with Lucan," she looked Adima boldly in the eye. "If the Saxons get passed us, you will need to take care of him and keep him safe. This is your duty," she added quietly at the protest of her sister.

Adima's eyes flickered for a moment to Tristan. "Guinevere, I can fight."

"I know that, but your fight is not here," Guinevere placed a loving hand upon Adima's shoulder. "Lucan needs you now more than we do."

Adima scowled. She wasn't afraid of the Saxons, so why would she run from them? Her brow furrowed in disappointment, but she made her way toward Lucan without a further complaint.

The knights began unloading their weapons to prepare for a face off. Arthur turned to Ganis, the serf who'd been helping him. "Ganis, I need you to lead the people," he said sternly. "The main Saxon army is inland, so if you follow the coastline until you're well south of the wall, you'll be safe."

Ganis looked at him, unsure of his orders, trying to gather the strength within to lead the people. "You're seven against two hundred!" he protested with a foul glare.

"Eight," Guinevere corrected him as she approached. "You could use another bow," she cocked her head and smiled at Arthur, expecting him to be impressed. He did nothing to prove to her that he was.

Hesitantly, Ganis spoke. "I'd rather stay and fight," he began, but to no avail.

"You'll get your chance soon enough," Arthur assured him. He then turned to the mercenaries. "This man is now your captain," he said. "You do as he says; am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the mercenary promised submissively.

"Go, go," Arthur instructed a worried Ganis.

Gathering up his courage, Ganis yelled. "Right, come on then! Move on!" With that, the caravan slowly continued on its weary way across the ice.

On her way towards Lucan, Adima repeatedly turned her gaze to Tristan. She feared for Guinevere, and for Tristan. She wanted to be there to protect them. She caught Tristan's eye, hoping for some sign that he would bid her goodbye, or something.

He turned a blind eye to her gaze; it was his way. All he needed to do now was to focus on the Saxons that had begun appearing through the forest.

Dagonet waved and smiled sadly as Lucan was taken away from him by the little wagon, followed by Adima. Lucan sadly waved back.

The knights began assembling in a row behind eight piles of weaponry. The Saxons, having reached the border of the deadly ice, slowly began to cross it, as carefully as they could. Cynric led them, his eyes fiercely glaring at Arthur; the man he wanted most to kill. He wasn't sure exactly which knight Arthur was, but he assumed it was the last one to join the row of warriors, dressed in Roman armor.

Arthur's knights and Guinevere stood silently, waiting for his command. Guinevere stood next to Lancelot near the left end of the row; Tristan on the other end.

_These Saxons,_ Dagonet thought to himself, looking ahead of him. _They will pay the price for following us. I won't let them hurt Lucan, nor my friends. We've lost too many over the years,_ he shook his head slightly, not wanting to be reminded of this truth. His lips curved in a slight grin_. Too much blood has been spilled on these lands; these honorable lands that we have fought and died for. Let's see your faces,_ he demanded of the Saxons.

Galahad was growing nervous thinking of the battle awaiting them. _How will this end?_ He thought. _There is no telling. Please let me live and fight well for my friends. Just give me the chance I've been longing for; let this be the end of it. Soon_, he thought hopefully._ Soon, I'll be home. _All he wanted to do was get this over with and return to the warm home he so longed for all these years.

_Please God, don't let my knights fall this day; not any of them, _Arthur prayed in his mind to his God.

Tristan eyed the Saxons now him. His hawk still perched on his shoulder. "Hey," he spoke to it softly. "Go now. Follow the caravan." As though the bird acknowledged his words, it spread its great wings and took flight. Tristan suddenly felt a warm heat rising in the air beside him.

He slightly turned his head to Adima, holding her bow and arrows in both hands; her sword lay at her feet for later use.

He thought about saying something but was interrupted by Arthur's words. "Hold until I give the command!" he ordered.

Lancelot turned to Guinevere, a sly grin on his face. "You look frightened." He sighed, "that's a large number of lonely men out there."

Guinevere turned to him. "Don't worry, I won't let them rape you," she assured him with a grin.

"Shouldn't you have listened to your sister's orders?" Tristan scoffed, glancing at Adima from the side.

Without even looking at him, Adima answered coldly. "My business is that of my own, Tristan. I surely do not need any advice or help from you," she snapped. "I am not a child."

Tristan looked away, frowning. He only asked her because he wanted her to obey Guinevere and retreat to safety. He knew he should have expected such a cold reply.

"Archer!" Cynric called out. A Saxon archer stepped forward and released an arrow into the sky. The arrow landed and skidded across the ice pathetically, far from the knights. Cynric glared angrily.

"We're out of range," the Saxon commander noted.

Cynric scowled and shot him an icy cold look. "I can see that!" he spat angrily.

Arthur smiled. "I believe they're waiting for an invitation; Bors, Tristan." Both knights aimed their arrows high.

"We're far out of range!" Guinevere scoffed.

A smile was conceived upon Arthur's face. His eyebrows raised, he turned to Guinevere for approval as Tristan and Bors both shot their arrows high into the sky.

Both arrows landed straight into Saxon hides, killing their enemies quickly, without falter. Guinevere glared back at Arthur, preparing her own weapon for firing. She still had not noticed the arrival of her sister.

Cynric, furious now, began marching out onto the ice, his men faithfully following him. A passionate anger and hatred for Arthur flowed within him. He thought of the glorious day that he would tell his father that he had killed this man atop a frozen lake. He smiled to himself, and then drew his attention back to the battle that lay ahead of him.

A Saxon huddled together with his friends shouted, "Let's go!" in excitement.

"Aim for the wings of the ranks," Arthur ordered strictly. "Make them cluster."

Adima and Tristan both lifted their bow and arrows to the sky, preparing to fire. Adima pulled back tightly on the string of her bow, locking it securely against her jaw and cheek. She held her left arm out straight, and singled out her chosen target.

She glanced quickly at Tristan before firing. Her arrow, with the others, was imbedded in Saxon hides. Adima smiled at her flawless aim.

As the Saxons huddled closer together, they began falling heavily one by onto the crackling ice. Cynric looked all around him in a heat of anger. Adima could hear the ice rumbling beneath them. More arrows flew through the air in both directions. Although the Saxons were slowly decreasing in number, they were still forcefully walking onward, and with far more numbers than Arthur and his companions.

"Hold the ranks!" Cynric called out above the thunderous call of the ice beneath them. He looked down at his feet as the ice he stood on began slowly breaking away.

"Hold the ranks!" a Saxon commander echoed. "Hold the ranks!"

Adima's muscles shuddered beneath her skin. The Saxons were getting ever closer.

"Hold the ranks!" Cynric yelled furiously, his temper always rising. "I kill you myself!"

As the Saxons continued their march, the ice cracked less and less. As they were beginning to reach the center of the lake, the ice was thicker and could hold them. "They're not breaking through," Adima whispered.

Tristan shot a concerned glance at her, but said nothing.

"Arthur," Guinevere began, not sure of what they were to do next.

Arthur turned to her, then his eyes glided up and down the line at his knights. He thought of their safety and their will to return home. He knew he would soon regret his words. "Fall back," he ordered. "Fall back and prepare for combat!"

Lancelot reached back, pulling out his two deadly swords. They clanged against their sheaths as they emerged into the air, gleaming in the sun. The rest of the knights prepared for combat.

Again, in a worried rush, Tristan turned to Adima, who failed to notice, as he unsheathed his curved sword.

Bors noticed Dagonet fidgeting with his sword. He gripped it tightly in his hand, staring all the while at the army in front of him. "It's alright Dag," Bors assured him. "We'll kill them all." They made quick eye contact. "All the dirty bastards."

Only half of Dagonet heard what his friend had said. Part of his mind was focused on a little boy, only minutes away from where he stood. Lucan gave his life meaning; a much higher purpose than he'd ever had before. He had to stop these Saxons. They were a threat to Lucan to the rest of his friends, to the serfs, everyone. He had to stop them; he had to.

He suddenly dropped his sword. He picked up his axe, and surprising his friends, ran out onto the ice, not far from the Saxon hand. He yelled furiously as he ran, a hounding battle cry that drew Adima's attention towards him.

"Dag!" Bors yelled, trying to stop him, but it was too late.

Dagonet was already far ahead of them. He fell to the ground in a fury, and began hacking away at the frozen ice beneath him.

"Cover him!" Arthur shouted, worried for his friend.

The knights fetched their arrows again and began shooting any Saxon that they could, as they gained on Dagonet. Bors especially, aimed well with anger.

The ice surrounding Dagonet cracked ever more, shaking the surface he was perched on. Forgetting his own life was in danger, Dagonet continued to hack away at the ice, bending and breaking it to his will. Adima admired his strength and will. She knew he was doing this for Lucan.

Cynric violently pushed his weary soldiers forward. "Shoot him!" he shouted. "Bring him down! He'll be the death of us all!"

A much larger crack surfaced above the ice. As the Saxons neared Dagonet, the ground beneath them shook and broke apart, sending them to the icy depths below.

Dagonet's spirit lifted; it was finally working. Lucan will be safe, he thought.

Just as this peaceful thought entered his mind, he felt the cold sting of an arrow's point against his chest. Warm blood spilled from his wound. He bowed his head to look at his wound in awe.

"DAG!" he heard Bors scream behind him.

He felt one last shot of strength surge through his trembling body. He raised his arms, lifting his axe high above his head, and pierced the ice one last time with its powerful blade. He barely noticed three more arrows hanging from his side. The pain soon became strong; he longed for death, so his pain would release him.

He looked up to see Saxons falling to their deaths around him. A smile of satisfaction crossed his face. Arthur had dropped his bow and arrows and was running to Dagonet's side.

Dagonet slowly felt his body submerging into the water beneath him. He was falling forward, into a hole in the ice he had created. He felt Arthur's warm hand as it grabbed him and pulled him out of the water.

"Dag!" Bors yelled in fury. He grabbed a shield from the ground and ran to aid his friends. He held the shield in front of them, blocking many blows from enemy arrows. Arthur was dragging Dagonet backwards toward the others.

"Pull back, Arthur!" Lancelot shouted.

"Kill them! Kill them!" Cynric called to his soldiers.

Adima grew tense on the waiting sidelines. Archery wasn't her calling, and she knew she would be of better use to her friends in combat. In a single moment, she dropped her weapons and picked up her sword, screaming.

"Adima!" Guinevere shouted as she saw her sister running toward the enemy.

Tristan's gaze fell on her as she ran onto the battlefield, making contact with several Saxons. He did well to cover her with his arrows, but he was quickly running out, as were the others.

"Help us!" Bors demanded of the other knights. Gawain and Galahad rushed forward, helping to bring Dagonet.

Tristan, Lancelot, and Guinevere continued covering their friends. Adima turned around and charged her sword forward into the stomach of a Saxon soldier. Ice crackled beneath her feet. Three more Saxons approached her. She began combat with two, just as several more came.

As she beheaded another, Lancelot came up beside her, killing two more and then facing another. The two fought together, nearly back to back, as the Saxons encircled them.

"Look out!" Adima shouted in warning as a Saxon crept up slyly on Lancelot. Lancelot quickly brought death to this man.

"Thanks," he said smiling.

As more Saxons came, the ice began to break weakly underneath them. Adima faced a pair of Saxons. She was busy with one as the other ran up beside her. Just as she sliced her blade across one's chest, the other raised his sword to her head.

A single arrow pierced the side of his head, before he could bring his blow to Adima's neck. Adima quickly turned around and saw Tristan starring right at her. She nodded a simple thanks, and then ran forward, towards more Saxons.

As she ran over a spot, the ice seemed to be thinning. She began thrusting her sword at more Saxons even as arrows killed some of them. She felt her left foot slip into the cold water beneath her and quickly looked down. She backed away form the spot, right into the sharp point of a Saxon sword.

The blade didn't cut too deep before she spun around, the sword sliding across her flesh, ripping into her thin dress and drawing crimson blood. She slaughtered the bearer of the sword with a quick blow he was not expecting.

Her senses sheathed in pain, Adima stumbled to the ground. Both Tristan and Guinevere noticed. Adima's heart climbed into her throat. She tried to call out, but no words could escape this sharp knot.

The ice below Adima began to crumble beneath her weight, and the weight of the herd of Saxons running towards her. Slowly, she turned her head to see them running for her. She saw in a blur, Lancelot flying in front of them and more arrows followed.

"I kill you!" she heard someone scream.

Adima looked up and saw a large Saxon man standing over her. An arrow shot through his chest. Adima was not given time to slide out of his path. His bloody body crumbled on top of her, and the ice beneath her gave way. As she plummeted into the icy water she saw Lancelot in front of her, dodging more Saxon blows form both arrows and blades.

"Adima!" Tristan heard himself shout.

She was submerged under the water, oblivious to the world above her. She fought to reach the surface of the ice, but the heavy Saxon laying over her was carrying her to the bottom of the icy lake. She gathered her strength, swimming out from beneath him.

She began to reach her arms toward the surface of the water but was pulled under by a weighted force. The Saxon's hands were wrapped around her legs, pulling her under with him.

"No!" she screamed, but only bubbles and precious air escaped her mouth. Her eyes quickly became blinded by the bloodstained water.

A lifeless Saxon body floated past her. She held her breath, treasuring every moment she had, trying as hard as she could to free herself from the Saxon's tight grasp. She had dropped her sword in the water when she was pulled under.

She used her nails to scratch the Saxon's hand but he refused to let her go. Adima thought this was the end; precious air was leaving her, along with her life. It was slipping away from her, as was the surface of the water.

Her entire body was numb; she could no longer feel the Saxon's grip on her legs. She wondered if he was still holding onto her. He wasn't. His body was drifting to the bottom of the lake.

Adima could taste the fresh blood in her mouth when she opened it again in attempt to yell for help; it would be her last attempt.

"Adima!" Tristan yelled again. When he received no reassuring answer, he too dropped his weapons ran forward, toward the Saxon army.

"Tristan, no! She's gone!" Gawain yelled after him. "TRISTAN!"

Guinevere and Gawain knew Tristan had no way to protect himself. They aimed their remaining arrows to cover him. Lancelot was still fighting, bravely, now joined by Galahad as well.

Adima's world grew black. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, feel or taste. She no longer heard her heart pounding in her chest, nor felt the stinging pain in her back. She was numb to the world around her.

Spinning arrows darted and streaked through the water from holes in the surface of the ice, barely missing Adima.

Tristan dove swiftly into the icy water. His eyes caught a quick glimpse of Adima's face through the bloody water. He swam quickly to her. His hand reached out to hers but she disappeared again into the darkness.

He swam further under, brushing up against the dead Saxon's limp body. Again he reached for Adima, this time; he felt soft cloth under his fingertips. He wrapped his numbing arms around Adima's waist and began swimming upwards.

As he reached the surface of the water, he took a deep breath, then pushed Adima out of the water. He was greeted by Guinevere, who drug her sister upwards. Guinevere laid her sister on the ice.

Tristan pulled himself up and out of the water. "Come on," he commanded, grabbing Adima again and picking her up.

A Saxon blade nearly hit them as they ran towards the other knights. Tristan gripped Adima's cold body tightly, wishing to the gods that she was still alive. He couldn't feel her breathing, and he surprised himself with his abundant worry.

Adima's head hung back limply as he carried her, bouncing up and down as he ran.

"Stay with me, Dagonet!" Bors shouted, holding his friend's icy hand. "Stay with me!"

Dagonet tried to lift his head to speak, but though he mouthed words no one could understand, no sound emerged from his pale lips.

Arthur and his knights were a safe distance from Cynric and his men, who were swiftly retreating to the edge of the lake at Cynric's regretful command.

"Here," Tristan whispered, laying Adima's body gently on the snow covered ground beside the lake.

Guinevere nearly pushed him out of the way. She pressed against her sister's chest, something the knights did not expect to see. Tristan wasn't sure what she was doing.

Memories fluttered through Guinevere's mind of a time, long ago, when Merlin had taught them a wise lesson. Guinevere pushed again and again against Adima's chest.

"Don't hurt her," Tristan found himself begging.

"I won't," Guinevere shot back through falling tears. "I know what I'm going." She inhaled deeply, and brought her lips to her sister's, exhaling into her mouth. Adima's pale face began flushing with a light hint of color. She began coughing up mouthfuls of red tinted water.

Someone!" Guinevere shouted. "I need dry clothes. We must warm her!"

Arthur untied his blood red cape and quickly handed it to a panicked Guinevere.

Tristan, who was leaning over her, almost fell back at this haunting sight. "She's alive!" Guinevere screamed. "Tristan, help Dagonet; she will be fine."

Adima coughed up more water and her chest rose high with a mouthful of air as she gasped for much needed air. "Ahh!" she screamed, now feeling again the biting pain in her back and side. Her eyes shut tightly in the agonizing pain that unmercifully filtered through her and she arched her back so not to rub it against the surface of the snow.

"She's hurt," Tristan said. "She's been stabbed."

"I know, I know," Guinevere echoed herself, frustrated.

"Dagonet!" Bors sobbed shakily, holding his friend's cold icy hand in his. Both Guinevere and Tristan turned to see Dagonet's lifeless body, now sheltered in Bors' arms. Arthur stood over him, misty eyed and hateful.

Lancelot glared at Arthur menacingly, breathing heavily as he wiped a bit of blood from his lips. He knew they shouldn't have fought there, he knew it was a bad idea.

A young Saxon soldier watches the procession of men and women leaving the lake. "Soon," she promises. Smiling, she turns and walks away.


	8. Talso

**A/N: Just kidding! Sorry about that little chapter confusion guys! I accidentally posted the wrong chapter. That just proves–yet again- that I'm not good with computers. Lol! Sorry. Well, here's the chapter you've all been waiting for-enjoy. Please Review; I love getting reviews, good or bad. Thanks. Oh, and tell me too, if Justice3 and I make a sequel, would you guys read it, and if so, have any ideas for it? Thanks. Oh, and one more thing…what are author alert lists? What does it mean if you are on someone's? Lol, I just don't know anything right now… **

**Zeriae- **I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I apologize for my obviously green writing skills. I hope to further improve my talents in these next chapters to come. Also, I will be having someone editing my work now, so you should expect better quality writing from now on. Thanks.

**Adarthang Lomedur- **Yay! I haven't heard from you in a while. Thanks for reviewing! Sorry for killing Dag. I kind of had to. I'm still not sure all is going to live, but I figured I should at least kill one off. It kind of all depends on if I write a sequel, and if so, what it's about. So, we'll see.

**ChildlikeEmpress**- Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you like my story! Hey, what's your name from? It sounds so familiar!

**Nimue26**- I don't think you ever got the email I sent you about our characters, so I'll just talk now. What are your ideas for Adima? Even if they don't do her much justice, I'm sure they're fine. Try me. I would like to put your oc's in my story. Please tell me any ideas you might have. Thanks for reviewing!

**Aelfa**- Yeah, I can understand how it's hard to imagine Tristan in a romance- I think he just hides his emotions, but deep down, he's a love slave! Lol. Well, I know several people like him and they're all great romantics. Besides, every good story (at least every story that I write in an attempt of being good) should have some romance in it! Lol. Thanks for reviewing.

**Camlann**- Thanks for the review! Sorry it took me so long to update! My mom had to edit the chapter first and it was taking her a while. Yeah, Adima's pretty cool. I think I tried not to make it seem too corny, but I think it turned out that way. Oops! I figured Lance would want to help his friends and since he didn't get as much 'air time' in the movie as I thought he would, I decided to add a little bit to his 'personality', if you will. Guinevere can be a dork-can't she? I guess she's just over protective though- and she's frustrated cuz she's got a lot on her mind right 'now'.

Anyways, that email I tried to send you was just about how I liked your story and I was wondering if you wanted to maybe have a sort of 'guest' appearance of characters. Like, I would have Dayn in my story (even if just for a little while) and you could have Adima. It might be a little late for that. Sorry you never got the email. I'll kill Justice3 for that! Lol. Thanks for reviewing!

By the way, I read your new chapter, but I couldn't review it cuz for some reason my computer won't let me review anyone's stories! So, I'll just tell you what I think now! I liked the chapter a lot. I think the flashbacks are awesome! I love flashbacks. I wonder where Niamh is. I just can't think of anything, unless she's been arrested again…It was cool how Dayn and Tristan kinda 'paired up' to look for her though. Oh! And I've thought of how Dayn looks (for me). I just saw 'The Grudge', and I think Dayn looks like Jason Behr!!! He's the main guy in the film…you really should see it. He's so hot! Anyways, yeah…update soon!

Chapter 8: Talso

Stepping backward on the snowy surface beside the ice blocks that continued to crumble over the former weight of the Saxon army, Talso breathed heavily and carefully sheathed her sword. She had not had a chance to kill anyone; what a disappointment. Though, it was not the Roman knights or the British natives she was charged with the destruction of. In her mind, the enemy was herself, and the cruel savages around her.

Her eyes glistened with hope for her two kin she had noticed on the battlefield of ice. She did not know them, but she was them; a Woad, who had only begun to feel the long lost joys of her homeland. She secretly hoped some day to join them in the wilderness, her kin.

Her colleague noticed her strengthened stare towards the knights. "Talso," he drew in labored breaths himself; his clothes were stained in sweat and splashes of lake water. "Let's go. We can't get to them now," the strongly built man's eyes were sharp and bold. They tore deeply into the horizon of trees before him, past the broken lake.

"Cynric," he spoke to his commanding officer, the son of his king. Cynric was walking past him. His expression was tired and his clothes drenched. He looked extremely upset, and he was overly disappointed with himself, and his men.

Cynric stopped to see what his right hand man had to say, a bitter look upon his face. _What was he to say to his father when they met again? That he had failed him miserably? He would never be forgiven. _

"Sir," Berc continued. "At least one of them is dead; maybe two." The smile he expected to see from his master failed to show, to Berc's disappointment.

Turning from the horrific scene of truthful death, Talso walked away from the grave site the frozen lake had become. She followed closely behind her leader, Berc on her trail. He was the only being she had ever encountered in her many years of hidden imprisonment with the Saxons that knew her true gender.

She intended to keep this a secret. When the right time came, she would leave the savagely world of these men behind, and return to her true homeland, which she was not about to give up to the Roman's either. She had fought for years for her well earned freedom. She couldn't wait to return home.

The wind created a rhythmic flow in the leaves that clung to the tall trees around her. She breathed in the fresh scent of evergreens and a small smile broke upon her face. Her amber locks twirled softly as the wind gushed through them, bringing to her, the strong stench of blood. Her frown was lost in a face of shadow.

"We will find another way around!" Cynric shouted to his broken men, who huddled close together as he stopped them from moving further. They all gathered before him, waiting patiently for their orders. "We will go east," he explained with a rigid, determined tone. This would have been the path Arthur and his men would have taken if the lake was proved too dangerous. "Berc, take your scouts and look ahead. See if there are any other passages across the woods that won't lead us too close to the natives." Berc nodded his head obediently and turned to Talso. He eyed her a moment, and she gave a week smile back. He then walked east with a small trail of followers, including the one woman in the Saxon army.

Cynric and the rest of the army stayed behind to try to collect any weapons our recourses that might be proved useful to them later on.

Drifting through the heavy maze of trees, the scouting party marched, Berc leading the way through the coming darkness. Talso walked quietly beside him. With a grave expression on his face, her turned to her and spoke softly.

"Anger is the fuel of hate, Talso," he explained. She did not quite understand and she showed him with an inquiring glance. "You want revenge, as do we all," he grinned slightly at the thought of sweet revenge. "Someday we will get it, and we shall slaughter our foes with ease," his grin faded into a devious smile.

Talso did not smile back, though she knew this is what Berc expected of her. She was angry with the knights, for all the killing they had accomplished on that day, but her army did just the same. _The wind blows both ways,_ she thought to herself. _They fight to survive, Saxons fight for land_.

When she did not respond, Berc assumed she was too grieved to speak at all, and thought to leave her alone. "It isn't easy to live in this world is it?" she asked suddenly, a perplexed look upon her face. Her brow furrowed, trying to think of a decent answer for her question.

"Some say it's easier to die than to live in this world," Berc noted.

"Is that what you believe?"

Berc turned to his friend. "Those people are fools, unsatisfied with life. They expect people to pity them, take care of them. I won't do that, and I wouldn't ask it of you, or anyone else," his strong gaze fell upon Talso's. "I will make this world what I want it to be; I do not expect anyone else to do that for me. We must be strong," he concluded with a forceful tone, laden with enthusiasm.

"Strong," Talso repeated quietly to herself, contemplating in deep thought what he had just said. _Was he right? Or would it just be easier to die sometimes?_

She could find little answers for herself. Part of her was too shattered to think. War and battle left a bitter taste on her swollen tongue. She had been witness to too much pain and suffering and had been the cause of many deaths. Sometimes she wished she would fall asleep, and never awaken, just to save her sanity.

She pushed with her forefinger at a tender cut in her arm she'd received from outstretched branch just days ago. She picked at the dried blood with her fingertips, frowning as the stinging of the wound seeped through her skin. It was a small injury, one she barely noticed, but even the smallest of wounds was still a wound, and all wounds carry a secret poison within them.

She shuttered at the thought of her past. A vivid flash of memory coursed through her mind. She had received a wound much like this one when she had been captured by Berc and his scouts. She was naive then, not like she was now. Her mind had opened and a world of questions was answered through her experiences with the Saxon clan, but in return, another series of questions had constantly been surfacing, or some, resurfacing through her.

She wiped the newly drawn blood from the thin gash in her arm. When Berc had discovered a young woman had been taken in by one of his scouts on his violent raid, he found it hard to let her go. He didn't find it difficult, however, to behead the man who dared take a woman for himself.

After the raid, their party had gotten lost in the woods. The forests were truly a thicket of mazes. Few animals could be found to hunt, and though berries were plentiful, the Saxons were not clear on which were poisonous.

Berc would have forced the girl to feed upon any berry before he or his men to test its safety, but she could die soon that way, and therefore leave no other tester. He decided to make her a promise, which in her young naiveté she was certain he would keep: she would explain which fruits were edible until they found Cerdic and the others, and she would safely be returned home.

She would not return home, however, for another two years. During those two years, she had traveled with the Saxon army, cut her hair, and presented to all as a young man. Berc was the one soul who looked after her. Eventually, the two looked out for each other. It took a while for Talso to get over her capture, and she never truly got over it, but she accepted the fact, for a time, that she was a prisoner of war, and may be until her death. Though, she was determined to free herself, through death, or any other way.

She hated the cruel world she lived in. She hated the Saxons, she hated war. Death she hated, and pain. For every man, woman, and child she killed, a little part of her was lost as well, but she continued doing it, even as little as she could. She had to, to prove herself to her authorities. She had to prove to Berc.

Part of her embrace this man as a friend, and part as an enemy. Was he not the man who enslaved her in the bitter existence? Had he not pressured her, pushed into man-slaughter? He had ruined her life, shattered it, but still, he seemed to be the only one holding her upright. She could not find the words to describe her feelings for him, but she refused to call it love. Always in the end, she would conclude that it was he who was the cause of all her pain and suffering, her sweet longing for death, silence, to be deaf and blind to the entire world around her.

Was it worth it to even live? For her to draw breath? Her only hope was to find redemption, meeting a valiant end in the battle to decide whether her true people would find their freedom in her home land. This was her dream; all her faith held her to it. She could think of no other higher purpose for her to serve. That was it. She would accept her end like she accepts that the sky is blue, and that her heart, torn.

Talso stared ahead of her, down a path of silver trees, showered with frost and sparkled with snow flakes. A pearly white owl flew gracefully above her. For a moment, its light body sheltered her from the setting sun's rays, casting a dreary shadow upon the placid earth. She breathed in deeply the sweet smell of evergreen.

Cough review cough 


	9. Caught

**(A/N: Hello everyone! Here's the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. The next chapter probably won't come out for another week or so because of the craziness of the winter holidays. Please hang in there with me. Thanks for all reviews- I know some people (including me) have been having problems reviewing, and I don't know why but…whatever. Please review if you can! Thanks.**

**-Modesty) **

**ChildlikeEmpress: I thought that's what your name was from, but I wasn't sure. That's awesome. Thanks for your review! **

**Zeriae: Thanks for the review. I'm glad you like the story. I never was really good at spelling…lol. **

**Adarthang Lomedur: Yep, we should feel bad for Talso. Poor thing. Those Saxons sure are a pain! Thanks for your review. **

**Camlann: I'm sorry the review thing isn't working for you either. It really sux. Oh well. Lol, I kind of missed the other characters too! You'll see all the characters inter-mingle soon though, I promise… As for the character appearances, you're right. We kind of thought about it a little late. What where your ideas? I can't think of anything…Oh, a flashback would be cool. Can't wait for your next update! Lol, that rhymes… **

**Chapter 9: Caught **

Darkness surrounded Adima as her eyes slowly opened. She looked around her. She was in the wagon- what a surprise. She could feel pain up and down her spine; she figured it was from when she had been stabbed. Her body ached, at but least she was warm under the thick blankets that were piled high on top of her.

She carefully and quietly lifted the top blanket off her, trying not to disturb her sister. She had of course noticed that overprotective Guinevere lay sleeping right beside her.

She lifted the second layer of covering off her body, and Guinevere mumbled something in her sleep. _Did she say Lancelot? _Adima's heart pounded. When her sister made no further signs of waking, she began to lift the third blanket from her body.

Guinevere's eyes were upon her. They opened suddenly. "Adima," she whispered.

Adima gasped quietly, lying back down. "I-I was too hot," she lied.

"Don't lie to me," Guinevere said. "You were sneaking out weren't you?"

"No."

"I'm afraid perhaps you don't recall the unfortunate incidents that followed your last act of disobedience," Guinevere smirked, but it was too dark to see.

"Guinevere," Adima pouted somewhat child-like.

"I'm glad to see you've finally woken," Guinevere stated. "But you really should go back to sleep. You need your rest," she pulled the covers back over her sister.

"Fine; sleep well Guinevere," Adima mumbled.

"And you," Guinevere said, shutting her eyes.

Minutes had passed before Adima tried her escape a second time. This time she was more careful and slow to remove the blankets. Guinevere did not move. Adima crawled on her hands and knees towards the entrance of the wagon, feeling for some shoes with her hands. She found some, and quietly slipped them on.

A cold breeze flew past her, and she shuddered in the cold. After she took her first step on the snow covered ground, she looked back at her warm blankets, lying there on the floor, useless. She thought about reaching in and grabbing one to take with her, but then the thought of Guinevere waking and stopping her made her forget about the blankets, and she turned around.

Light flecks of snow fell to her pink lips; she licked them off with a smile. As she stepped, the snow crunched beneath her feet. She immediately stopped and looked behind her to make sure her sister had not woken. She hadn't. Adima kept walking.

She walked close to the edge of the forest where a small fire had been built. Around it laid Bors and Gawain, nestled pleasantly in sleeping rolls. Tristan was no where to be seen. Beside Bors, she saw Lucan. Adima frowned. If Dag were alive, he would be sleeping with the boy. Lucan must have found comfort in Dagonet's closest friend.

She carefully turned around. She would look elsewhere for Tristan. She stepped as lightly as she could on the powdered ground, leaving deep tracks on the snowy surface for anyone to follow.

Chills ran through her as she heard more steps behind her. Adima turned around to see Lucan standing below her. "I wanted to follow you," he said. "I couldn't sleep."

"Shhh," Adima hissed. She looked around, then back at her small friend. She didn't want him with her when she spoke to Tristan, but she didn't want to dessert him now; not after all he'd been through.

"Where are you going?" he whispered.

"I'm looking for Tristan," she whispered back.

"He's out there," Lucan pointed into the woods. "He always goes into the woods." Adima followed his gaze. "He likes the quiet. But he's probably asleep."

"Tristan never sleeps. Now, do you really want to come?" she asked hoping he would decline. He nodded.

"Very well," Adima forced a small smile. "But be quiet."

As they walked through the forest, they both were silent. Adima wondered what the young lad would be thinking. She checked the ground for tracks, but if there were any, they were too difficult to make out in the darkness. She felt the ground with her fingertips for a pattern of holes, and Lucan mimicked.

She stood every once in a while, looking around to see if she could spot a small fire, or some sign that Tristan was close. They kept searching. "I feel something," Lucan said, feeling the ground.

"Tracks?" Adima asked.

"Yes," the boy confirmed. "They lead this way." Adima followed as Lucan traced the deep tracks further into the woods.

Suddenly, Adima heard footsteps. "Tristan?" she called out in a half whisper. There was silence.

Her bones froze. She gripped Lucan's shoulders and pulled him close to her. Lucan could sense something was amiss. He looked around, scared. Maybe it was a ghost.

"Drop your weapons," a cold voice answered. Adima froze for a moment, and then turned around. A shady figure stood before her.

"I have none," she said, pushing Lucan behind her. He poked his head around her waist to see what was happening.

Adima could see the figure sheathe a small dagger in her belt. "Who are you?" she asked hiding all signs of fear in her voice; though inside, she was trembling.

"You travel with the Roman," the voice replied.

"Yes."

"And why? You are a woman?"

"It is too complicated to be explained," Adima said coldly. "Are you not a woman yourself?"

Talso grimaced. "Aye," she said. "My name is Talso."

"Why should I care to learn your name?" Adima spat. "You are a scout- for the Saxons?" Though it was dark, the moon shown dimly through the trees, and Adima could tell Talso was clad in Saxon dress. "Why does a woman serve them?"

"It is too complicated to explain," Talso mimicked with a grin. "Who are you?"

"Adima," she said.

"You have not a Roman accent," Talso inquired. "Are you indeed Roman?"

"I'm Woad," Adima said proudly.

Talso's muscles relaxed a little. "You're a Woad?" she asked hopefully.

'Yes."

"As am I," she said with a bewildered smile. "I was taken, by the Saxons, in a raid of our homeland long ago."

"Saxons do not take prisoners," Adima said.

"They took me," Talso confirmed, in her native language.

Adima gasped. "You are of my kind," she said.

"You must be silent. My comrades are not far off. Are you alone?"

"She is not alone," a man's voice answered. Tristan raised his bow and arrow, aiming them at Talso.

Talso instinctively grabbed Adima by the throat, pulling her closer. She unsheathed her dagger, pressing it threateningly against Adima's throat. Adima was forced to let go of Lucan, who ran to Tristan's side. Adima choked in pain.

"Release her," Tristan warned.

"Please," Adima choked. "He is my friend. I will tell him not to harm you."

Talso thought a moment. Should she let this woman go? "Drop your bow," she finally demanded.

"Please," Adima muttered.

"Lucan," Tristan whispered. "Run back to the camp; get Arthur." Lucan took off at full speed for the camp.

"Drop your bow," Talso repeated sternly. "Or I'll kill her."

Hesitantly, Tristan lowered his bow. In an instant, an arrow sped through the hair. "Tristan!" Adima roared as the arrow landed in Tristan's chest.

Instantly, Tristan raised his bow, and shot back, killing the Saxon immediately. "Here they come!" Talso shouted, letting go of Adima who ran swiftly to Tristan.

He leaned against the trunk of a tree, feeling the blood pour from his wound. "Go back to the camp," he instructed, standing up.

As more Saxons emerged from the woods, both Tristan and Talso drew their swords. "Woad!" Talso shouted.

Adima, stunned, turned around. Talso through her a dagger. "Use this!"

As she picked up the dagger off the ground, a river of rage coursed through her. With teeth tightly clenched, she charged for the Saxons.

Adima, Tristan, and Talso all fought together. Talso instantly sliced her blade across one's chest, watching him fall to the ground, dying of blood loss. Adima threw her dagger at one man, hitting him in the neck. He shrieked in pain as blood spurted from his wound. Tristan raised his sword and fought two Saxons at once, killing them both.

Adima ran to the dying Saxon she had injured, yanking the knife out of him. She looked around for more prey to kill. Spotting another Saxon running towards her, she threw the knife, into his chest. He fell over too.

Shortly after, Arthur ran into the small clearing, sword held high. Talso breathed heavily as they approached. Gawain ran to her. "Who's this?" he asked.

"She's a Woad," Adima answered running to Tristan. All the Saxons had fallen- and so had Tristan. Gawain eyed Talso unconvincingly. She did look familiar.

Adima knelt beside Tristan, who was sitting on his knees, pulling the arrow out of his chest. "Oh no," Arthur muttered beneath his breath. "Gawain!" he called.

Adima's eyes clogged with tears. She kneeled beside Tristan. "What- what can I do?"

Her heart nearly shattered at the glare Tristan gave her. Guilt gripped her throat and she could say no more. "Are you alright," Tristan managed to ask. Adima's mouth was wide open, but she said nothing; she just shook her head. "Adima?" Tristan asked again.

She clapped her hand to her mouth in shock. Arthur helped Tristan to his feet just as Guinevere rose through the woods. Her gaze fell to Tristan, then Talso, and then her sister.

Adima's gaze met that of her sister's. What had she done?

**(Isn't Lucan cute?!) **


	10. Arthur's Words

**(A/N: Sorry this is late, again. I had a family emergency that kept me from the house a few days, and I've been busy with the holidays, having family over and stuff…Anyways…please enjoy this chapter and even if you don't, please review. Thanks. And Happy New Year!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers…I'll respond to your reviews next time because I really don't have time now and I just want to post this. Thanks again- your reviews make my day! **

**-Modesty) **

**Chapter 10: Arthur's Words **

Adima slowly awakened. What surprised her most was that she was lying in the snow. Her head throbbed, but what pained her most, was her accompanying guilt of Tristan's fall.

As she stood, her head swirled. Visions of flying arrows and swirling trees dawned on her restless mind. Her brow furrowed. If she had been lying on the cold ground all night long, why on earth did she feel neither wet nor cold?

She heard voices ahead of her. Arthur and Gawain stood beside a wagon. They both appeared vividly upset. Adima's heart pounded in her chest, as she thought of only the worst.

"Arthur," she addressed as she neared him.

The man scowled at her. "What have you done?!" he screeched, walking forward.

"It was only an accident," Adima said nauseously. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"Well you did," Arthur snarled.

Gawain spoke next. "Tristan's dead," he said regretfully.

Adima nearly fell to the ground in shock. Her eyes widened more with every short breath she took, and her head throbbed more so with pain. "No," she whispered under her breath.

"It's true," Arthur unsheathed his sword. "And the fault belongs to you." Adima shook her head. Arthur stepped closer to her. Adima backed away. "Now you must die."

"No!" Adima yelled, taking a step back. "I didn't mean-"

"Well it doesn't matter," Arthur protested. "Accidents happen. None the less, you will die for your betrayal.

"No!"

"Yes," Arthur demanded with a sinister grin.

Behind him, Adima could see Guinevere standing, shaking her head, but doing nothing. "Guinevere?" Adima asked, wondering why her sister wasn't coming to her aid.

"I told you," was Guinevere's reply. She folded her arms across her chest and frowned. "I can't save you now."

"No!" Adima yelled repeatedly. "Guinevere! Help me!" Arthur took another step forward and Adima took several back. She felt herself falling backward onto the snow. She had tripped, but over what, she could not see.

"Arthur, please."

Arthur shook his head. "Close your eyes Adima." She did so. "You will never wake."

"NO!"

"Adima, Adima!" shouted a woman's voice.

Adima kicked in her sleeping roll, thrashing around violently. Her body slowly stilled as Talso's gentle, but cold hands came to her forehead.

"Adima," Talso spoke again. "You must calm yourself."

Adima's eyes opened wide. It startled her to see Talso standing over her. She looked around her like a mad woman. "What's going on?"

"You had a bad dream," Talso confirmed, stroking the girl's dark brown hair. She lifted her hand.

"You where thrashing about like a snake with its head off," Talso smiled, but a look of worry remained on her face. "You screamed 'no'. I don't know why."

Adima breathed slowly, trying to calm herself. She lifted her head. She was lying on the ground, but in a sleeping roll.

"What a vivid dream you must have had," said Talso; "to be like that. Are you alright now?"

"Yes," Adima thought.

Talso stepped back, giving Adima room to breathe. Adima sat up. "Where's Tristan?"

"Who? The man who was shot?" Adima nodded. "He has been taken to that wagon over there," Talso pointed to the wagon Guinevere and Adima normally slept in.

Adima suddenly felt stupid. The intensity of her dream must have made her forget. She and her sister gave up their sleeping quarters in the wagon so Tristan could rest and be taken care of. The knights had told the Woads to stay out of their way, and Adima was forced to stand back and watch the knights all gather around the wagon, asking Arthur what they could do to help.

Adima suddenly stood up. Only Arthur stood at the mouth of the wagon. She remembered her dream. _Arthur would never kill me!_ She thought. _Besides, Guinevere wouldn't let him._

"I'll just wait here then," Talso said, sitting back on the log she'd propped up as a chair.

Adima walked over to Arthur, who had noticed her presence. "How is he?"

"Fortunately, Tristan knows well enough to carry and wear his armor at nearly all times," Arthur began." The arrow may have pierced through his armor and breached part of his skin, but he'll be alright."

Adima let out a sigh of relief. That's all she needed to hear. Arthur spoke again, frowning. He looked into the wagon. "It will leave a scar," he said. "But that won't be anything new or unusual for Tristan," he smiled slightly, remembering all he and Tristan had been through, along with the other knights.

"May I speak with him?" Adima asked hopefully. Arthur eyed her a moment.

"Let's stand aside a moment," he said walking a little distance away from the wagon. Adima followed. _He isn't going to kill me, is he?_ Adima thought.

"Guinevere told me she had instructed you to stay put in the wagon," he admonished. "And you didn't."

"I only wanted to talk to Tristan," Adima lowered her head with the weight of her guilt sinking her further into the depths of the icy cold snow. "I didn't mean any harm."

"You should have known not to stray," Arthur's voice was stern. "We are in the middle of a war," he said. "There are Saxons hunting us down," Adima wanted to protest, but she couldn't think of anything to say. "You should have known that there were scouts out there. You put us all in danger."

"I'm sorry," Adima said. "What would you have me do now, Arthur? Great Arthur whom I've heard so much about; I wish I could take back what I've done."

"But you can't. You've already put Tristan's life in danger twice. He won't always be there to save you. You are young, Adima, and with youth comes naivety. You are naïve, and I can't let you risk the lives of my men again."

Adima was shocked to hear this. "What are you saying? Are you suggesting I leave?"

"Your home is in the forest," Arthur said, now looking emotionless. "You have no reason to stay here."

"My sister-"

"She can leave when she wants; she's healed now."

Adima stood in silence for a moment. Her eyes swelled with tears. _Well, at least he's not going to kill me. _"

"I shall ask again," Arthur began.

"No; I'll leave," Adima promised. "I wish not to put Tristan or any of the others in danger. Please, let me bid him farewell."

Arthur nodded, and as Adima walked toward the wagon, he said, "I'm sorry I must ask this of you, Adima. I'm sure you will understand."

Adima ignored him. He probably was right, she thought. But still, she hated to go.

"Tristan?" she called into the wagon.

"Yes?"

"It's Adima; may I come in?"

"Yes, come in," he said.

Adima carefully crawled into the wagon, opening and shutting the curtain of rags made to keep Tristan's privacy. She looked at Tristan, lying, covered in sheets on the floor.

His face was flushed of color, but it was slowly returning. "I'm so sorry," Adima said, honestly.

"Don't fret," Tristan said. "It'll only be another scar. Do you fair well?"

Adima nodded. She was so happy her dream was only a dream, and not real.

"Why where you in the woods, anyway?" Tristan asked.

"I was looking for you, actually," she said, sitting down next to him. "I was going to thank you for saving me," she smiled, at the thought of how ironic her actions where. She wanted to thank him for saving her, and instead, she nearly got him killed. "Well, thank you," she said.

Tristan smiled at the slight humor in her voice. He was pleased to see she was well and safe. "I really am sorry," Adima apologized again.

"Do not dwell on it," Tristan told her. "If I were afraid of Saxon bows, I wouldn't have attacked them. If I were afraid of getting injured or killed, I wouldn't be here," Adima looked down at his chest, where a bandage was on his chest. "I was afraid of losing you," he finally said.

This drew Adima's attention back to his eyes. _What did he just say?_ Her insides tingled. "Well, I'm right here," Adima took Tristan's hand.

"I can see that," Tristan said. "I didn't get shot in the eye."

Adima smiled. _Was that a joke?_

"Tristan," Adima's smile faded. "I'm afraid I keep putting you in danger."

"We live in dangerous times, in a dangerous world," said Tristan.  
Tristan frowned, remembering his youthful days of innocence and ignorance. The world had changed a lot since then; he had changed. "These are dark times," he said at last, after a long moment of silence.

Adima's face grew cold and she sank in her seat. Tristan was right. "Merlin says," she straightened her posture. "That even in the darkest places, the darkest times, some light can be found."

"But how long will it take to find?" Tristan asked somewhat frustrated.

"I found it," Adima turned her head to look straight at Tristan. "My light saved my life, brought me back from the dead."

Tristan's eyes wandered to Adima's face. "I am this light you speak of?" Tristan asked not knowing what else to say.

"Tristan," Adima's voice was firm but kind. "You saved my life. I will never forget that."

"I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing," he shook his head modestly.

Adima's gaze fell to the tattooed markings on Tristan's cheeks. She wondered what their significance was. She put her hands on his cheeks and rubbed her thumb on his cheekbone, admiringly. A million thoughts clouded her mind. She looked right in his eyes and her insides melted.

She gracefully leaned forward and her lips lightly touched his. Their mouths moved together in a passionate kiss. Adima quickly pulled away form him, a little stunned. What was she doing? "I-I'm sorry, I wasn't-"

Tristan smiled fondly, and leaned in towards her, gripping her shoulder lightly. Adima stopped him with her hand on his chest. She could feel his heart beating rapidly. She took his hand and they interlaced their fingers together.

Reassured of her motives, Adima allowed him to gently pull her forward and their lips locked graciously once more. She moved his hand to her heart and he likewise could feel her racing heartbeat. She smiled happily and wrapped her hands around his neck pulling him closer.

Adima closed her eyes and breathed softly through her nose, her head swarming with thoughts. Tristan's lips curved into a warm smile as Adima ran her hands through his loose dark hair.

She slowly backed away, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. She smiled faintly, and looked Tristan in the eye affectionately. Her heart was racing, pounding furiously against her chest, but yet, she allowed her body to relax.

Her smile only grew brighter when she looked deeply into his loving eyes. They saw into her soul and she felt a light wave of happiness course through her trembling body.

"You're trembling," Tristan whispered in her ear breathlessly.

"I know," she grinned, tracing her fingers down the sides of his face. She bit her lip in excitement and peered into his mysterious dark eyes. "But I'll be fine."

"Good," Tristan smiled, resting his cheek on her forehead.

Adima took his hand and kissed his fingers tenderly, shutting her eyes and disappearing into the moment. Tristan kissed her forehead and held her close to his body.

"Tristan," Adima whispered a hint of fret in her voice. "What will happen when you reach the wall, and your fort?"

"I don't know what will happen," he replied solemnly. "And, _we_." Adima looked confused. "When _we_ reach the wall and fort."

Adima frowned. "Tristan, that's what I came here to talk to you about. I came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye? Where are you going?"

"Arthur says it's best I leave; I only cause misfortunes here."

"That's not true."

"You know it is," Adima sighed, drawing her eyes away from Tristan's. She couldn't look at him now; it would cause her too much pain.

"I know nothing of what you speak," Adima knew he was lying. "Is it Arthur's place to decide if you should stay or go?"

"You've never questioned him before," Adima pointed out. "Don't let these feelings cloud your judgment. "I must go Tristan. I'm leaving tonight."

"Is there anything I can do to stop you?"

"No," Adima frowned, wishing the circumstances were better. "I'm sorry, Tristan." The man stared at her in awe. One minute he had everything; the next, it seemed, he was about to lose it all.

_**(A/N: gasps whatever will happen next???) **_


	11. To Return Home

**(A/N: Alright, sorry but I really don't have time to personally thank reviewers. I'm so glad you guys like my story and thanks SO much for the reviews. The next chapter still might be a while, because now I'm writing a bunch of other stuff, including a Phantom of the Opera Phanfic that I'll start posting soon. I'll update as soon as I can. Please review some more! ) **

**Chapter 11: To Return Home **

They stood outside the edge of the woods. Adima had said her farewells to everyone she could find on short notice. The caravan was getting ready to start traveling again, so Adima couldn't find all the knights. She found Lucan, bid him goodbye, and told her sister they'd see each other soon.

Guinevere was sad to see Adima leave, but she stood by Arthur on the matter. Adima felt bitterly betrayed. She'd risked everything to save Guinevere from Marius' dungeon, and this was how she was to be repaid. Her sister never fought Arthur on his decision to ask Adima to leave.

Though the young Woad started to agree herself, she still felt betrayed by Guinevere. As Tristan had advised, Adima was not to dwell on the unfitness of her life. Of course, this was much easier said than done, and even easier to advise someone else than do yourself.

But Adima tried to put all of this out of her mind. She knew there was a chance that she'd never see any of the knights again; this of course, included Tristan, the man she'd grown to love.

Tristan embraced Adima, as a chill and bitter wind flowed swiftly and mercilessly passed them. Adima buried her face in Tristan's chest. Again she apologized for her actions, and again, Tristan dusted them off his shoulder.

"Goodbye," Adima said, slowly backing away. Her eyes were filled with tears. "I don't expect we shall see each other again." Tristan said nothing.

He looked down at the snow, with a saddened expression. "Farewell," he finally said, looking up into Adima's eyes.

Adima looked back at the slowly moving caravan. She looked at Tristan one last time, wishing she didn't have to leave, but she felt it was for the best. Besides, she figured it was too late to turn back now.

She slowly turned, and left. Tristan soon lost sight of her in the woods. He only wished he'd talked to her more, in the time that he'd known her; but sometimes, they needn't rely on words to say things. He knew that, and he knew Adima understood him.

He slowly started down the slight hill he stood on, towards Passebreul, and the rest of the knights.

Tristan gathered the reins in his hands as he passed by Arthur. His hawk sat perched on his shoulder. "Arthur," he said.

Arthur turned his head. "Yes, Tristan?"

Tristan glared at the road ahead of him, avoiding Arthur's eyes. "Adima's gone," he said.

"I'm sorry, Tristan," Arthur sighed. "I know you two got along well," there was no hint of a tease in his firm tone.

"You asked her to leave," Tristan said, anger swelling up inside him; he tried to hide it.

"It is best Tristan."

"Arthur, how would you know?" Tristan inquired.

"It is not like you to doubt my decisions," Arthur said a little stunned, but not angry at all. "It is for the best that Adima is gone."

"I could have made that call myself," Tristan shot back, still trying his best to remain calm.

Both men glanced at each other, both frowning. "I am sorry you question my judgment, Tristan," Arthur said. "Adima did agree to go."

Tristan said nothing; perhaps, he thought, he'd said too much.

There was never much conflict between Arthur and himself. The other knights seemed to take a friendly advantage of Arthur's kindness to them; something any other Roman officer would not have displayed. But Tristan was different. He held back his tongue, and only spoke to Arthur, especially against him, only when he thought it absolutely necessary.

Passebreul picked up a steady trot, his tail swishing behind him as he skipped past the caravan. Tristan was glad he was going to be scouting. The quiet of this duty always seemed to calm him.

Snow fell from the sky like rain. It soon turned to hail; a bad omen in the eyes of the knights. Adima thought nothing of it; except she had to careful she walked under thickly branched trees so as not to get hit in the head.

She heard a sudden rustle in the brush ahead. She put her hand on her sword, ready to pull it out if needed.

A lone figure stepped out from behind a fence of bushes. He was taller than Adima, and had longer than shoulder length brown hair. A tattoo of a round sun was carved into his forehead.

Adima released her grip on the sword. A dark bay horse followed the man out of the brush, even though he was lead by no reins. "Briac," Adima sighed out of relief that it was not a Saxon soldier or scout.

The man looked at Adima with an intense flare in his eyes and gritted teeth. "Adima," he acknowledged, raising his chin a little higher. He spoke then in the tongue of his ancestors. "Where are the others?"

"I am all that is left," Adima lowered eyes, remembering those she'd lost at the hands of the knights.

"Saxons?" he inquired angrily.

"No, Arthur's knights." She could see that her words were infuriating the Woad. "We attacked them," Adima continued. "They spared me, at Guinevere's will. They saved her, from a terrible fate."

Briac seemed to be growling. His eyes were sharp and focused on Adima's. "The great Merlin has explained the fate of your sister, but he said nothing of what had become of you."

"Did you not think I'd return to you?" Adima asked, hiding her intended tone of satire.

The man's eyes calmed and he patted his horse's thick neck. "My worry grew like leaves on the trees," he finally said, cupping Adima's face in his hands.

Adima's eyes shifted uneasily from his to his hands, and back at him. She took a step back. "Forgive me," she said. "I long to return home."

"And Guinevere?"

"I don't know when she will come," Adima frowned, already missing her sister. "I have been traveling on foot for two days; perhaps the caravan has reached the wall." Adima could see Briac was slightly confused. "Arthur leads a caravan through the mountain pass," she informed.

Her words then twisted into a little white lie, for she knew it would be better if she said what she was thinking of. "I left, knowing I should return home to you, and our people."

"That is good," Briac nodded his approval. "Perhaps some day, we shall meet Arthur and his knights again." Adima smiled slightly at the thought of being reunited with Tristan; Briac smiled for a far different reason. He wanted to kill Arthur, despite Merlin's well known plan to keep him alive.

He could at least kill one or two of the knights, he thought. Merlin didn't care as much for them as he did their leader. These feelings, of course, he kept hidden within him.

Adima glanced at Briac's steed. "Why are you out in the forest so far?"

"I am a scout," he confirmed. "With the Saxons closing in on us, we can't be too careful."

"Of course," Adima said, remembering her last two encounters with the Saxons.

"Well, come," Briac started to walk back towards their forest abode, his horse following obediently behind. "Merlin will be awaiting your arrival." Adima nodded, and followed in silence.

Merlin welcomed Adima home with open arms. As he embraced her, she felt a sense of welcoming that she had not felt for a long time. "My child," he said.

"It is good to see you, Merlin," Adima smiled. "Merlin," her smiled faded. "I am all that is left of the group that left to rescue my sister."

"I know," Merlin said. "And more lives will be lost in the coming days."

Adima looked perplexed. "The Saxons," Merlin began. "They will reach the wall by tonight, I am sure. When is it that your sister will choose to appear?" He said it more than asked.

"Shall I send a rider for her?" Adima asked, now concerned for Guinevere's safety.

"A rider will be dispatched," Merlin smiled. "You have walked a long journey."

"Yes," Adima agreed.

"Now is the time you should rest," Adima noted a little twinkle in Merlin's eye; an eerie feeling of mystery surrounded him. "Spend the time wisely, with your betrothed," both Merlin and Adima glanced towards Briac, who looked back at them with a slight smile from where he stood a distance away, tying up his horse to a tree. "No one knows what tomorrow will bring," Adima thought hard on what Merlin was revealing to her. Were there more to his words than what she plainly heard?

"War is upon us," Merlin spoke clearly and with wisdom. "Spend the rest of these calm hours with one whom you love." As he finished saying this, he smile innocently and raised his gaze towards Hadrian's Wall, in the direction of the Roman fort.

Adima followed his gaze. "I will summon Guinevere," she said finally.

"Take a horse then," Merlin said smiling.

Adima frowned, unsure of herself. "I-I cannot ride; not alone" she said meekly.

Merlin had nothing to protest. "Then Briac will go with you."

Adima's eyed widened. She should have not said that. "I could try riding alone," she finally said, still not sure of herself.

"Briac!" Merlin summoned him over.

Briac's horse followed behind him like a meek hound, head hung low, taking quick snips at the grass. "Take Adima to the fortress at the wall," the old man instructed.

Adima frowned; there was no telling what would happen at the fort now. Briac nodded at Merlin's request.

"And Briac," Merlin beckoned him closer. "Leave Arthur alone; we need him.

Briac nodded again. "Come Adima," he said leading her to the horse's side and lifting her onto its back.

He then mounted. Adima squirmed. It was much more painful, she thought to ride a horse without a saddle. She wondered if she would be able to stay on.

Adima reluctantly gripped Briac's bare sides, and nearly fell off already as the horse jolted forward, bounding swiftly through the forest.

**_( Tristan- cool…Briac- stupid…lol) _**


	12. The Arrival

(A/N: Ok, here's the latest chapter. I hope you like it. Please review. OMG, I had this dream that I was talking to Til Swcheiger (Cynric) and I was like 'It must be so cool to work with Mads Mikkelsen…" it was really weird…Anyways…on with the story…

**Chapter Twelve: The Arrival **

Adima's heart raced as the image of Tristan's face stood in her mind. She couldn't wait to see him. How would he react when he saw her again? What would Briac think of him?

Adima sighed, her heavy heart nearly breaking under all the baggage that clung to it. Loving Tristan was all she wanted to do- but she'd nearly forgotten about Briac on her long voyage with the knights.

She had only been engaged a day before she left to find Guinevere. Briac was a good man. He was smart, brave, and loyal to his people, but Adima didn't love him like she loved Tristan.

Tristan, to her, was a man of mystery, heart, and soul. Briac was just an old friend. But Briac would not care what her opinions were- would he?

Adima nearly slipped off the horse's slender sides yet again as he leaped over a small boulder. Her fingers tightly grasped Briac's broad and bare shoulders. She felt a stirring sickness in the pit of her stomach as she wondered what thoughts of her were coursing through Briac's head.

He was most likely thinking about her; and that's what she was worried about. All day she'd spent thinking about what she would do in the circumstances she'd put herself in.

If she denied Briac, what was left of her family and tribe would shun her- it was their way. She'd seen it happen before. And Briac- Adima would hate to see him hurt by her denial of him, but wouldn't it be worth it to be with Tristan?

Tristan was after all, a knight. Her tribe would not like him at all. Adima wondered if Tristan would even take her back, after she'd left him and the others. He was a loner after all.

Adima shook her head. She didn't want to think anymore of such things. They hurt her too much. Her insides turned as the burning threat of the future loomed in front of her. Adima wished she could change time, and return to the past forever.

"Saxons," Briac whispered, his mount slowing speed.

Adima and Briac looked to their right in a clearing of the forest, where over a thousand Saxons trudged through the slushy snow.

Adima's eyes widened. "They're headed for the wall," she breathed in horror.

"Yes," Briac grunted. "We must hurry," he kicked his steed in the sides, and they sped off through the forest, hidden in the abundant cover of the trees and looming mists.

"Well Tristan," Gawain said with a gleaming smile. "We're home."

Passebreul kicked up quite a bit of mud as he trampled through the slippery path into the Roman fortress. The large door opened, and the knights, along with the rest of the caravan slowly trudged on and into the busy fort.

"This was never home," Tristan muttered almost to himself.

"Aww, don't worry," Galahad tried to cheer him up. "We'll all be home soon. We'll go home."

"He won't," snapped Bors, casting a fleeting glance back at the dark horse which carried Dagonet's lifeless body. The smiles that had been on any of the knights' faces slipped away at his comment.

As the knights finally departed from the rest of the caravan, Arthur called to all the weary travelers. "You are all free now," she proclaimed. "You are all welcome to live here for now, if you wish. I do not think you'll be returning to your former home."

Several Roman soldiers cast each other fleeting glances wondering of that was allowed, but none of them stood up to Arthur.

The knights and the wagon which carried Alecto and his mother carefully entered a large courtyard. "Ah! Good! Christ be praised!" shouted a gleeful Bishop Germanus. He raised his hands in praise and smiled. "Against all the odds Satan could possi- Alecto!" he shouted, noticing the boy dismount from the carriage. The bishop seemingly ignored Alecto's solemn expression.

"Let me see you! You have triumphed young Alecto. Let me see you- you are here!" he placed his hands on Alecto's cheeks to show his happiness, but Alecto didn't share his mood. The boy understood now all the pain the bishop had caused the knights, and so many others.

As the knights wearily dismounted and began handing Joles their steeds' reins, Lucan leaped out of the wagon, racing towards Dagonet's body. "Lucan!" cried Guinevere, as the young boy was approached by Roman soldiers. Galahad forced them out of the young boy's way with his knife.

Slung over his horse's back, Dag's body hung limp. Guinevere walked behind Lucan, watching as he slowly slipped Dag's ring off his pale finger. Guinevere sighed. The ring would not fit on the boy's finger, but she would think of a way for him to wear it in the knight's honor.

The Bishop chuckled to himself, though no one else seemed to find anything at all amusing. "Great knights," he began. "You are free now. Give me the papers," he said to his assistant who rushed him the box that held within it the knights' well earned freedom. "Come, come!" he shouted, holding a weak smile. "Your papers of safe conduct throughout the Roman empire. Take it, Arthur," he chuckled to himself nervously as all the knights glared.

Arthur moved closer to Germanus, making the bishop very uncomfortable with his given space. "Bishop Germanus," Arthur breathed, almost in a snarl. "Friend of my father." Arthur then backed away, heading toward Guinevere and Lucan.

Lancelot walked over to the bishop. With a menacing glare in his eye, he ripped the scrolls from the box, carefully handing them out to each knight, giving them, their everlasting freedom.

Though the knights knew they were free, none really felt in a mood to celebrate or rejoice. As long as they were to live in the Roman Empire, they would never be free like the Romans were free, they knew. They would always be treated as outcasts, barbarians, slaves to Roman will.

"You are free!" shouted the Bishop. "You can go!"

The knights ignored him. Lancelot stood before Bors, who stared blankly off in the distance, teary eyed. "Bors," Lancelot shoved two scrolls in front of him. "Bors," he repeated. "For Dagonet."

"This doesn't make him a free man. He's already a free man. He's dead!" Bors exclaimed, picking up and throwing the papers on the ground before the Bishop's feet. Bors stalked off angrily to get drunk.

Once all the papers were handed out, Tristan walked over to the two Roman soldiers that held the empty box that once held the release papers. After careful inspection, Tristan gripped the box's sides, and took it from the Romans who just looked at each other wondering what to do. Tristan knew just what he'd do with it. The box would soon belong to Dag; he'd place it on his grave as a final gift.

"There it is," Adima gasped as she and Briac came within sight of the Roman fort. Briac nudged his horse in the sides and they picked up speed.

Once they got closer to the door, one guard shouted. "Woads!" and arrows began flying.

"Stop!" Adima cried, as the horse beneath her began turning and swiveling around, skipping and charging away from the flying arrows as Briac tried to control him. "I'm a friend of Arthur's!"

"Wait! Stop!" Gawain ordered the guards to cease fire once he recognized Adima. Gawain stood at the wall, looking down on her, Talso by his side. "Open the doors!" he commanded.

Slowly but steadily the large door swung open and Briac led his nervous steed inside the village walls. Adima was the first to dismount.

Gawain, Galahad, and Talso all surrounded her. "Adima," Gawain said walking up to hug her. "What brings you back?"

"I'm come for Guinevere," Adima sighed.

Gawain chuckled. "And Tristan?"

Adima would have shared his enthusiasm, but instead she shot a fleeting glance back at Briac, who did not appear happy. He grimaced, glaring at all and everything around him.

"Is Guinevere here?" Adima asked forwardly.

"No," piped up Galahad. "She and Arthur haven't returned yet. They're still at the cemetery."

"Cemetery?" asked Adima.

"We buried Dag today," Gawain sighed. "Bors hasn't come back yet either."

"I'm so sorry," Adima sighed.

Just then, Tristan came into view. He caught Adima's eye, and gave her a quick smile; then it faded when he noticed Briac coming up beside her. Who was this man? he thought.

"Tristan," Gawain turned to his friend. "Told you she'd return," he smiled, though Tristan frowned, since Adima was not smiling.

It pleased the Woad so much to see Tristan. It was all she could do to keep a straight face and stand where she was. All she wanted was to run up and kiss him, and she was sure he felt the same, but she knew Briac held her back. Tristan would probably have not shown his affection in public anyway.

Tristan's eyes scarcely left Adima, and hers did the same as she spoke. "We've come for my sister," she said solemnly.

"Well, I don't know when she'll return," Gawain said. "Come; you and your friend should come have a drink."

Briac and Adima turned to each other. Adima spoke to him in her native tongue. "They say Guinevere is not here," she began. "She's at a graveyard, mourning the dead."

"Not our dead," snarled Briac. "When will she come here? We must hurry before the Saxons arrive and block our passage."

Adima frowned. "They don't know when she'll return. They've asked us to share a drink with them."

Briac glared menacingly at the knights. "He doesn't look too friendly," laughed Gawain.

Adima couldn't help but smile. "He is my kin. His name is Briac. He doesn't like knights. Don't worry; he doesn't know your tongue like I do."

"Oh, good," said Gawain. "So will you join us then? We can't be sure when your sister or Arthur will return. I think Lancelot's having a drink anyway…"

"She's with Arthur then?" asked Adima.

"Yes," Lancelot appeared from nowhere. He gave a subtle sigh. "She's with him."

"I see no harm in a drink," said Tristan, glancing at Adima.

"I don't trust these men," whispered Briac. "What do they want?"

"They just want to welcome us to their home," said Adima. "We are their guests here. We should do as they say." Briac glared at Tristan; something told him there was more to this dark man than met the eye.

"A drink then?" asked Lancelot, hoping the Woads would agree. He needed some ale about then.

"Of course," smiled Adima. "Could we have someone take his horse?"

"Oh, I'll do that," piped up Joles, who came to get Briac's stallion.

"Let him go, Briac," Adima chimed. "Trust this man. He takes good care of their horses."

"Not my horse," Briac stood in Joles's way of the horse.

"Briac," Adima repeated. "Let it go." Briac glared at Adima, and then did as she asked.

"A drink then," Tristan said, catching Adima's eye, his deep brown eyes half hidden in a tangle of black bangs.

"A drink," Adima breathed, her heart pounding.

Please review, and if you like The Phantom of the Opera, check out my new story, 'The Mask and the Mirror'. Thankies!

-Modesty


	13. The Drink

A/N: Sorry this is so late. My beta reader (aka, Mom) took forever to read this. It may be about a week or so for the next chapter to come out cuz I haven't written it yet, and I'm really busy this week. Please remember to review, you know I love reviews! By the way, I know the title for the next POTC movie! It's POTC Two: Dead Man's Chest! Tehehe…and guess who's in it (besides Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom)? Stellan Skarsgard (Cerdic) Isn't that cool?

**Chapter Thirteen: The Drink **

"Gawain," Talso turned to the knight, her fair locks falling past her shoulders. They stood, leaning against a table full of knights in the pub.

Lance and Galahad sat down at a table, gambling with some other villagers. Tristan and Adima stood alone together in a corner, Briac watched them from afar. The Woad remained aloof, not trusting the knights, his eyes never leaving Adima.

Gawain lifted the cup of ale to his lips and drank. "I think," Talso continued with hesitation. "I will return with Adima and Guinevere tonight." Gawain rested his cup of ale on the table with a frown. "I have told you as much as I can about the battle strategies of the Saxons. I am of no more use here," she looked down.

Gawain sighed. He had been the friendliest to Talso since she'd arrived and he'd made sure she stayed close to him at all times, for fear of what any others might do to her for revenge- especially Bors who often sent her fleeting and angry glances. She was a Woad, but also a Saxon in the knight's eyes.

Gawain only wanted to protect her, and in Talso, he had found a friend. That is why she was telling him this; she was telling him goodbye. "You could stay here," Gawain suggested, knowing her answer would be no.

Talso grinned, happy that he at least wanted her to stay. "I've been from home far too long," she answered.

"Well," Gawain looked at his feet, then up at Talso again. "I- it was just a suggestion.

Talso thanked him with a smile. "It means a lot to me- that you want me to stay. Thank you."

"So who is this man?" was Tristan's first question.

"It's nice to see you too," Adima grinned. Tristan fell silent. Adima glanced back at Briac, her smile quickly fading; she avoided Tristan's eye. "He's just a…a friend."

"A friend? Is that why he looks at you like that?" Tristan glared at Briac.

"Tristan, you must understand-"

"Understand what?" Tristan spat. "Is he just a friend- or is he more?"

"I don't want him to be," Adima tried to explain it, but she could hardly speak. A lump grew in her throat. What else could she say?

"Who is he?" Tristan repeated his question, fearing he already knew the answer. When Adima turned from him, he asked in a much softer voice, "Do you love him?"

Adima gasped, her eyes now brimming with tears. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No," she rested her head on Tristan's chest, not thinking of Briac.

Tristan wrapped his arms around her, and immediately Adima was brought back to her senses. She leaped back. "I-I can't," she stuttered.

_Not this again_, thought Tristan. "Why?" he asked.

"I'm going to marry him," Adima finally uttered.

Tristan's eyes opened wide in astonishment. It took a few seconds before he could speak. "Why did you not tell me before?"

"I-I don't know," Adima felt the tears starting to fall. "I almost let myself forget." She turned, noticing Briac heading towards them. "It was a sudden thing…before we left to find Guinevere…I didn't think much of it. I tried not to…Briac," she said as he came up beside her.

"Come," he said. "Come with me now. I do not like this place."

"Briac," Adima spoke in a language Tristan could not understand. "Please, he- I…we must wait for Guinevere."

"She should have been back by now," Briac spat. "If she wishes never to return, then so be it; but you will come back with me."

"Adima," Tristan began. "What's he saying?"

"Wait," Adima began to feel overwhelmed. "I cannot leave," she said coldly, facing Briac. "I will not leave without my sister."

Briac scowled. "Yes, you must," he said. "I will stay here no longer."

"Then go," Adima couldn't stop herself from saying it so rudely. "Briac, I cannot follow you." Briac simply stared at her, wide eyed.

Briac glared at Tristan with vicious eyes. In an instant, he had pulled out his dagger. "Briac!" Adima shouted.

"You would follow him?" Briac snarled, still staring at Tristan, who then pulled out his dagger.

All the knights looked up. Tristan stood in front of Adima. "Briac, drop it!" Adima hissed. Briac said nothing, his nostrils flared with anger, but he did not strike. He glanced around him, noticing all the other knights had weapons drawn, prepared to fight and kill him.

Briac turned to Adima. Was that pain she saw in his eyes? The Woad breathed heavily. "I leave now," he said, lowering his dagger, and stepping backward. "Follow me."

Adima stepped forward, her eyes stinging with tears. She shook her head. "No." Briac couldn't believe it. She had betrayed him- left _him_ for a knight.

All eyes in the tavern where upon Briac as he left in silence. Tristan sheathed his dagger, and Adima instantly fell into him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry," she apologized through her tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Tristan. "Are you alright?" Adima nodded. "Would you like to sit?"

"No, no; I'll stand," Adima said.

"Adima, what happened?" asked Talso, coming up beside her.

"He left," Adima said, in both awe and shock. "Briac's gone." The guilt hit her like a knife in the chest. Briac was gone; but it surprised her that he left so willingly. _Perhaps he will be back,_ Adima thought, hoping she was wrong.

She never wanted to see the man's face again, but who knew what the future held in store.

"Guinevere," Gawain said, noticing her walking towards her sister. Adima turned around, to face Guinevere.

"Adima," Guinevere hugged her sister with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I came back for you," Adima answered. She then dropped her eyes to the floor.

"What's wrong?" asked Guinevere softly.

Adima glanced up at her, her eyes glossy with tears. "I can't," Adima breathed. "I don't want to go back."

"What happened?" Guinevere asked, growing worried.

Adima sniffed. "Briac and I were engaged," she announced to her sister for the first time. Guinevere's eyes widened with astonishment. "And I left him, for Tristan," she looked back at Tristan who was standing only a foot behind her.

"Adima…"Guinevere began. "Why did you not tell me this before?" Adima shook her head, her mouth gaping slightly, but she was too choked by tears to speak. Guinevere hugged her close again. "Stay here with me then," she said with a smile. "Stay with the man you love," she glanced up at Tristan, then back at Adima. "I must go now; the night is late." With that, Guinevere simply walked away.

Adima turned back to Tristan. "How about that drink?" she asked, forcing a little smile. It was over, she thought. Hard, but it was done; she was with Tristan now, and Briac could not tear them apart.

A/N: It won't be that easy will it? Please tell me what you think. Oh, and also, I'm still contemplating how to end this story, and if I should make a sequel or not, so please tell me your views on that. And tell me what you all think should happen to our beloved characters. I just can't seem to make up my mind, though I do have some ideas...Thanks so much!

- Modesty


	14. Blade of Defeat

**A/N: Hello my wonderful readers! Here is the latest chapter…duh, so I hope you like it. I loved all your reviews, so please continue to give them and let me know you're reading my story. Thanks so much. **

**Disclaimer: There are two characters in this chapter (Dayn and Orainne) who I might use later on as well. They are NOT mine! They belong to a wonderful writer named Camlann. You all should read her story because it's REALLY good, and Adima's in it too. Lol. If you like this story, you'll probably like hers too. **

**Tristan Fan: I usually don't reply to short reviews, but I absolutely love it! Lol. I couldn't stop laughing when I read it. Lol, I'm glad you think my story's 'hot'. **

**SpectralLady: I don't really like Briac either, but maybe in this chappie we'll feel a little sorry for him…he is a jerk though…**

**Irishfire: Sorry about that 'almost heart attack'. I'm glad you like my story. Who knows what Briac's gonna do next…**

**Camlann: Yes! I love connections! Stellan is SO cool! I still think it's so funny that he and Mads (Tristan) are such goods friends. I wonder what it'd be like to kill your good friend in a movie. Lol, I think it'd be fun. J/K! I think you should listen to your feelings. I can't wait to see Beowulf! I LOVE Gerard Butler! He's one of my fav actors! And of course, I have started my phanfic for POTO already, so anyone who wants to read it can…OMG! I can review now! Yay! I hope I used Dayn and Orainne well enough in this chapter….If not, I can change it. **

**Zeriae: I agree. It's ok to have a little of that, but after a while it gets annoying. **

**Cari Shidao: Yeah, I'm sorry I took so long. I'm so busy right now with my other stories, and like I said, my beta didn't have time to read it. **

**Chapter Fourteen: Blade of Defeat **

So much had happened to Adima at that moment, she didn't know quite what to think. Her sister seemed so casual, so urgent in her needs to take her leave as soon as she had arrived. She wasn't at all impressed by Adima's return. In her heart, Guinevere knew her sister would return, if only to see Tristan once more before he left. The Woad knew her sister well.

Guinevere had heard of the knights' plans to leave the Roman Empire as soon as their debts were paid; and they had been. And what of Arthur? All he had told her was that he planned to stay with his people, now that his place in Rome seemed to be unwelcome after the death of Pelagius. No, he didn't want to return there, to that place where good men die, and men of black hearts rot away with their power and greed, and rule the world with it.

Hints of an early spring lingered in the warming air. The snow from the mountain pass had not faded, but closer to the wall, the coming of the new season had already begun.

Adima succumbed to her inner thoughts, a warm mug of ale in her hand. She stood by Tristan, back to his front. She waited in silence for a moment.

Tristan put both hands on her shoulders. "Adima, are you alright?" he asked her. "Do not think of Briac," he said, with a slight smile. It was strange, for Tristan to smile, but Adima made him do that.

Adima's chest rose up and down again with a long lived sigh. "Perhaps you should rest?" Tristan offered in a worried tone.

Adima didn't answer. She couldn't forget what just happened. Briac's anger, she had hurt him so deeply. Tristan suddenly feeling so warm against her, his love for only her evident in his bold eyes. She turned to face him.

Tristan didn't know what to do. The girl remained silent. Their eyes met, and a slight smile spread across her face. Her eyes lit up. "Tristan," she breathed, as if realizing this for the first time. "We're free."

Tristan wondered what she meant by "free." Free from Briac? Free from the Woads? Her home? He looked at her calmly, and she looked at him. A calm wave of peace washed over her, and all pained feelings filtered away.

She brushed away the jagged bangs from his face, and stared affectionately into his deep brown eyes. She rested her left cheek on his chest, and closed her eyes, blinking away the last of her salty tears.

"What will become of us on the morrow?" she asked, her voice low shaken.

Tristan's heart plummeted. Tomorrow; it would come so soon. Night had fallen, and the moon beamed down at them as if telling the man time was short. "We will speak of such things in the morning," he said, simply, caressing the back of her head gently.

Adima didn't care to refuse that smile that grew on her face. Tristan's voice was so kind. Why? The thought hit her then- she'd given up her promised life with another man to be with him. This thought had crossed her mind before, but now it was truly sinking in. Everything had happened so fast…She was with Tristan now. That's where she wanted to be, by his side. She wanted nothing to change. Tristan could see this- it was not difficult for anyone to make out what Adima was thinking then.

Her eyes grew moist at the thought of her love leaving. Adima bit her lip. Tristan shifted his stance slightly. "You must relax your mind," he told Adima. "Come; let us take a walk." Adima nodded slowly.

Gawain and Talso watched in silence as they left the tavern. "It is late," Gawain said with a heavy sigh, weighed down by all his feverish sorrows. The night was heavy, as was his heart. He didn't expect it would be this painful, as time closed in all around him. In the morning, Talso would leave- perhaps even that night.

A glittering veil of bright lights twinkled over head, surrounded by the ethereal darkness and peaceful atmosphere of the night. Perched upon a tree in the nearby wood, a female hawk sat, quietly ripping at the flesh of a minuscule rodent.

She blinked her golden eyes, and glanced down below her. Strange men cascaded down the running river of grass that flowed throughout most of the island. Their muscular bodies were laden with heavy furs and their hands with sharpened, sinister weapons.

Cerdic smiled. They were not far now from their quarry. He raised his hand for all his men to see, and suddenly they stopped. "How far," both words were uttered to the weakling beside him.

The man stood, crouched a little, black hair tossed in the docile winds, and matted from his long weary journey. "Not far," said he. "We could make it to their gates by tonight, if we just travel little further…"

Cerdic interrupted him, his voice cold and harsh. "Don't you think my men should rest?"

Was this a rhetorical question he was asking? The black haired man licked his dry, cracked lips nervously, thanking God that winter was ending. "It is your decision," he said. "We could make it tonight- fight tomorrow."

"Very well," came Cerdic's reply.

"Father?" Cynric came up beside him.

"Don't speak to me, boy," Cerdic's tone was icy as the bitter winds that fell in winter. His son remained by his side, a little taken back, and silent. "Keep up the pace!" he yelled to his men, and with several grunts of displeasure, the Saxons moved on. With every step they took, they were that much closer to Arthur and his knights, and the unfortunate fort and village that stood in their path.

Cerdic, Cynric, the man with tangled black hair, and several of high ranking Saxon officers sat scattered in a circle around a blazing fire. Cynric watched his father, eyes unmoving.

"Cynric," Cerdic muttered in his hoarse, stern voice. "Is there something that troubles you that you would like to talk about?" his tone was sarcastic; he knew what haunted his son.

Cynric frowned, remembering with regret when he was forced to tell his father of his misfortune at the lake. Cerdic had struck his cheek hard with the back of a leather-gloved hand, with no mercy for his son. "No, Father."

Ignoring this, Cerdic spat, "Perhaps next time I give you orders to kill someone, you should do it."

"There were five men!" taunted one officer, while his friends smirked.

"Ten!" Cynric corrected him with heated anger. "And they would have killed you."

The officer jumped to his feet, unsheathing his sword, threateningly. Cynric rose to challenge him. Cynric's heart seethed with rage. He would end this torment, he would end it now…"Sit down!" Cerdic scolded. Cynric glanced down at his father with a frown. "I won't have spilled blood of my own kind here; there'll be enough of that tomorrow."

Cynric forced himself to keep his smile down. As much as he wanted to kill that man then and there, the thought that his father wanted him alive made him a little happy. Then, all the happiness filtered out of him.

"Watch yourself, boy," his father began to add. "Halis could kill you before you could raise your sword," he chuckled.

"Would you think differently of me, Father, if I had not failed you?"

Cerdic recklessly pulled put a knife from his pocket and held it in his hand. He leaned inwards to his son, and placed the dagger on Cynric's right cheek. Cynric tried not to flinch, but anger and pain swelled up inside him.

He could feel the cold edge of the blade carving into his flesh. It stung, burned, and froze him. But he took the pain down with a hard swallow, and kept silent.

Cerdic was not finished. "Perhaps this will teach you a lesson," he snarled. "Never to disobey me, and _never_ to fail me. You won't forget now. The reminder is carved into your skin!"

A male Woad stood at the edge of the woods, watching the Saxons from concealment. He glanced upward at the hawk. "Thank you for your guidance, old friend," he whispered to the elegant creature, as it took flight towards its master, towards home.

Dayn clenched his fists. He watched the savageness of the Saxons with a heart of sorrow. How they cruel they were, and to their own kind. He soon felt the warmth of another's body beside him. He turned to face his love.

"There are so many of them," Orainne whispered, breathlessly. "Come," she took Dayn's hand. "We must warn Merlin."

"Merlin already knows. He has eyes like that hawk. He knew this long before us."

Orainne let herself be taken in her lover's arms. He held her close. "I fear for tomorrow," she whispered.

"These men will not take our home from us, Orainne, I promise you that."

Orainne took Dayn's hand in hers with a light smile. "I want to fight with you, by your side."

"That will not be," he told her as she frowned. "You are a healer- you will be needed after the battle, and during, but no where the danger lies. You know this. Don't fret, my love," he kissed the top of her head tenderly. "Arthur and his knights will protect this land, as we will protect ours."

**_Ok, so read Peril of Secrets if you want to find out more about Dayn and Orainne and, thanks to Camlann for letting me use her wonderfully developed characters. Lol. Please review! Mahalo. _**


	15. So This is Freedom?

I'm SO sorry for the delay! It was for several reasons: I had writer's block, and hardly any time to write. This chapter will be a little short, but that's because I really don't have time to write any more. I'm going on vacation this week, so it'll be while before my next update. Sorry again.

OMG, I had the worst time today! I was walking, and I tripped over a root and when I fell, I skidded my knee on the road, and now it's all bloody and I had to tend to my wound. Lol. And, when I fell, I broke my beautiful nail! I'm furious! OMG, and then, I was editing this chapter, and my computer shut down, and I lost all of it. Luckily, I had printed a copy so I just copied it, but now my fingers hurt, and I'm tired…Grrrrr! Ok, remember to please review and let me know what you think! Thanks, and happy Spring Break!

Jewly: I love Tristan too! Lol.

Calliope Foster: Thanks for your review!

Keelin: Ok, I've wanted to get back to you on this horse thing. I'd like to start of clarifying that I'm a big horse person too, and have been riding for many years. I appreciate your comment about what I wrote, and would like to let you know, that what I meant by whipping was him tapping on the shoulder of the horse, like riders actually do. It never occurred to me that it would be taken as him actually beating the horse, so I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that. Anyways, I'm glad you reviewed and like my story, and I'll try to be more careful in the future.

Irishfire: Yep, she did. We did a trade off with characters; both sides offering cameos of our own characters. I'm not sure how to pronounce their names. I think it says how to in Camlann's story. Once you read her story, you'll find that Dayn and Tristan, though they weren't exactly close, were still allies, and Tristan's hawk knew Dayn well enough to follow his orders.

Starnat: Well, my phanfic is called 'The Mask and the Mirror'. I hope you read/review/ and enjoy it! Erik wants more reviews…lol.

Camlann: I feel sorry for Cynric too. Actually, if I do write a sequel, I was thinking about having a little Adima/Cynric action, just because I pity him. I do feel really bad for him, though. His dad's such a jerk! Oh, and me with more connections…Til Schweiger (who plays Cynric) is in Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life, with the lovely…Gerard Butler! Yay!

Adarthang Lomedur: I think I've read part of your story, but I can't remember, so I'll check it out when I have time. Have fun writing, and thanks for the review!

**Chapter Fifteen: So This is Freedom? **

"Gawain."

Gawain turned when he heard Lancelot calling to him. The dark-haired man stood, mug of ale close at hand. "I'm taking a walk to the wall, for the first time since we've been freed. You and your…friend, Talso, may join me if you wish," he smiled, glancing toward Tristan and Adima. "It's certainly a bit more peaceful up there."

Gawain pondered the invitation and shot a questioning glance at Talso who smiled back. "Take me to this wall of yours, Gawain," she offered with a warm smile and taking the knight's hand in her own. Gawain's heart began to race and he and Talso followed Lancelot out of the tavern.

Bors continued to slouch in his chair, unmoving, gazing intensely into nothingness. Not even the constant cries and whining of his eleven children could persuade him to move or even speak. Galahad took a final sip of ale and, leaving it on the table, went to join his friends at the wall. He glanced at Bors, wondering if he should be invited to join them, but Vanora motioned for him to move on- her lover was in no mood to follow the crowd.

Adima and Tristan eyed each other calmly. "Shall we join them?" Adima asked quietly. "I hear the view is quite spectacular up there, on the wall. We should spend our final hours in such a place of peacefulness."

"Very well," Tristan grunted in response, not wanting to think of their final hours together at all. He felt a strange bitterness inside as he took Adima's soft, gentle hand in his own. He rubbed his fingers tenderly against her own, never wanting to release them; he'd never felt this way about anyone, and the feeling at once comforted and frightened him.

Adima closed her eyes for a moment as they walked, breathing in the fresh, clean air. It soothed her throat and filled her lungs with its divine sweetness, calming and soothing all her senses.

They followed their friends to the wall, climbing the rigid stone steps as high as they would take them, and peered over the railing at the vast landscape below. A crisp, cool breeze floated past, rustling Tristan's dark hair. Adima smiled, combing it back in place with her fingers. Tristan frowned, a little uncomfortably. It frightened him to realize that this woman beside him had given herself completely to him, and he knew she would only expect the same from him. Though he feared this in some regard, it also gave Tristan a sense of completion, a sense of purpose.

All his life he'd been living under someone else's flag, someone else's colors, and laws, and rule. Now that he was a free man, after so many years of imprisonment, what was he to do with his freedom? He smiled now, pondering his hard-earned gift.

It was a taste on the tongue so ripe and fresh. The pure smell of it hit his nostrils and wafted into him as if he was smelling the sweetest flower. IT was surely the sweetest scent he'd ever taken in.

But there was more to it than that. Is senses had covered taste and smell, but what about touch and hearing? He closed his eyes, listening to the soft coo of the wind, its delicate melodies singing a harmony in his ears. It was the sound of freedom, something he hadn't heard in a long time. And then came the best of all; he squeezed Adima's hand lightly, as if reminding himself she was still there, still holding onto him. IT was the feel of freedom. It gave his feet the feeling that he was walking on air; it lifted his heart to the skies. He could soar with his hawk when he was free, when he was with her.

He gave a soft sigh, a sigh of content, and nothing else. He was happy where he was, with Adima; he was free. _So this is freedom_, he thought with a grin. He had a small hope that his friends would feel the same way about their freedom, but he doubted they all did.

Arthur, perhaps. He could hardly take his eyes off of Guinevere. She certainly was a gentle person, and quiet handy with a bow. Surely Gawain was quite content with Talso. His dreamy-eyed friend had told him of his frequent conversations with the Woad, though Tristan still didn't completely trust her.

Yes, Gawain seemed to have grown quite fond of the girl. Tristan was indeed happy for him. Though it pleased him that his friends were enjoying their lives, he couldn't help but he was most privileged of them all.

Of course all this heart-felt pondering could only bring him back to the much despised reality that surrounded him and the others. No one knew what tomorrow would bring. He was certain he and his comrades would journey off into foreign lands and reunite with their families and perhaps start a clan of their own. But Tristan knew not what would become of Adima. He would try his best to convince her to join him in his travels, but he wasn't sure how she would answer him.

She loved where she was, that was certain Tristan only hoped she would leave with him, for him. The question of her coming with him seemed to tug at the frays of his tunic, and he finally dropped his jaw, and the words fell like short falls from a rushing river.

"Adima," he never stopped or hesitated. "Will you come with me to my old home?" As soon as the words left him, he feared the answer would be no. His heart stopped a moment, clinging in his chest, afraid to move, afraid of the answer.

Adima blinked in surprise. All this time she had been in such a daze, now the man she'd completely surrendered herself to wanted to have exactly what she offered him. Her lips parted in a sweet, adoring smile. Tristan looked into her deep brown eyes, full of bittersweet thoughts, and thought he could read an answer from them. She was torn between two loves, he realized.

It was a smile of sympathy; she would tell him no. The wind seemed to sweep out from underneath him, and Tristan fell hard on the stone cold bricks of the wall. His hand fell from Adima's and retreated to his side like a faithful and wary dog. He could not smell, he could not breathe. It was all over. His freedom was gone.

Oh! Poor Tristan! Whatever will happen next? I guess you'l have to wait and find out later...lol. Be kind, please review. Thanks.


	16. For Freedom

A/N: Sorry this took so long to update. I got back from vacation a little over a week ago, and so it took a while for me to write this and get it edited. Thanks for hanging in there, guys! Hope you like this chapter. I added a little bit of Lancelot/Guinevere in here just cuz I felt like it, and because I believe the characters would actual have done this. So there.

**Chapter Fifteen: For Freedom **

"Tristan, I'm sorry about Briac," Adima said, trying to attract Tristan's attention. He had been staring into nothingness, lost deep in thought.

"You needn't worry about him," Tristan replied. "He's far from here now; far from us."

"Tristan," Gawain called. He was standing with Talso by the rail of the wall, leaning his arms against the thick grey stone, painted in places with an ivy blanket.

Hadrian's Wall stretched for miles, and it was agreed to have been a beautiful sight. Arthur had known of its beauty, but he couldn't help but partially resent the reason it was made; to separate two differing peoples. Adima was fascinated by the wall, and the view from where she stood was more than she's ever hoped for, or imagined. She could see for miles all around her, and up high, the breezes came with thick, full gusts of wind that made her hair dance about her. But tonight, it was different; the gusts had calmed; they seemed to be holding their breath- waiting for something.

On one side of the wall, fields stretched for acres. They were full and a soft color of emerald green. An island of trees was farther off in the distance. Night was coming, and on the horizon, even farther off, met with a deep blue sky sprinkled with stars.

The other side of the wall had become the border of the Roman fort. It saw average people everyday; villagers, women and children, their men, Roman soldiers, and the knights along with their attendants, and now, a new group of villagers who had traveled many miles to be there, the serfs.

"We could find peace here, couldn't we?" Gawain had asked of a dream. He longed to be home, but at the moment, he was surprised to find that he was happy where he was. But he knew what horrible memories he had at the fort; all his friends and fallen comrades…Dagonet. He had wanted so long to be rid of it all, they all had.

"Peace," Tristan agreed. "Yes, peace for a moment." Gawain smiled, and turned back to Talso.

"More than a moment," Adima corrected him uneasily. "An eternity."

Tristan offered her a smile. "If that were possible," he said, quietly. "An eternity is a long time."

Just as he said this, he heard shouts coming from the Saxon crew. One man looked as if he were about to attack another, but he was halted by their leader.

Tristan remembered the sight of the army as they had come forth onto the plains. He and Adima just watched in silence as the army of Saxons poured into the grasslands like a swarm of locusts, a plague. Their leader was someone no one on the wall recognized. He was tall, sturdily built, and he looked strong. His massive shoulders were blanketed in a thick coat of fur and armor. He carried a sword, swinging it in one hand, his face was grim and his eyes cold and narrowed.

Adima shivered. "There are not that many of them," she said, arrogantly. She knew there were many, but her tone was somewhat sarcastic. Over a thousand soldiers rested there, not far from the wall. It made Adima's skin crawl. She realized that on the morrow, she would be down there, fighting them, alongside her sister, and her kin. The thought of this frightened her, and gave her a dose of adrenaline all the same. She imagined she would not live to see the outcome of the battle, which in part suited her, for she doubted her people would be able to come out of this war victorious; not against an army that large. But then she remembered that fateful day on the ice, when a mere ten knights and Woads had fought an army of two hundred Saxons, and had defeated them, with only one casualty.

Adima knew there would be deaths on the morrow for both sides- how could they avoid it? Upon this thought, she realized how glad she was Tristan was leaving. At least away from here, he would be safe, she thought. She curled her fingers around his, feeling the warmth in his calloused fingers. She felt all around comforted and relaxed for a moment. There was more warmth in her now than she had ever felt.

"Arthur," Jols tapped violently against Arthur's chamber door. His voice was clear and jaded. Worry dripped from his words like blood as it swims across the edge of a warm blade.

Arthur froze. He was holding Guinevere by her waist, as they sat together upon his soft, warm bed. Guinevere parted her lips from his neck to crane her own toward the door; she couldn't help but blush a little. "Come to the wall," Jols demanded, bitterly, and before Arthur could open his mouth to ask why, they could hear Jols' footsteps exiting the corridor.

He and Guinevere stared at each other a moment, a Guinevere's eyes dropped in angst. She had a feeling why he had been summoned. Arthur sighed, "We must go."

Guinevere glided swiftly behind him as Arthur led her to the wall, where all the knights and some Roman guards were watching the every movement of their enemy. "Saxons," Lancelot muttered bitterly as they approached. He was sitting on a wooden chair, a mug of ale in his hand.

"When did they arrive?" Arthur demanded, panting, he had nearly run all the way up there.

"Only minutes ago," his faithful scout answered, letting go of Adima's hand. He walked over to his commander, his face grim. Lancelot stood and joined him at Arthur's side. All three Woad women looked back and forth to each other in wonder and uncertainty. "What are we going to do, Arthur?" Tristan asked, his voice almost a whisper, his eyes searching Arthur's face for any sign or expression.

Arthur looked tired, weary, and determined. He sighed and answered. "Knights," he began sternly. Gawain and Galahad took a few steps towards him, listening intently, and Bors came up from behind, struggling to walk straight- he had never parted with his ale and still held it tightly in hand, as though it was a life source. Lucan padded up along side him, his face anxious. "This is where our path parts."

"No, Arthur," Lancelot walked forward in protest.

"Lancelot," Arthur held up his hand. "I cannot leave with you tomorrow. I now know my destiny. Go, my precious knights, and faithful friends, back to your homeland, and remember me there. It has always been an honor to fight, and live with you, and I count you all my brothers." Without another word, Arthur started down the stone steps of the wall, leaving Guinevere behind to stare at him in wonder. What was he doing? That was exactly the question going through Lancelot's mind.

Lancelot ran after him. "Arthur, reconsider!" he yelled, stopping Arthur in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs. "You cannot do this! For the sake of our friendship-"

Arthur put a hand on Lancelot's shoulder and said, sincerely. "Lancelot, be my friend now, and leave me be. I have a whole night to prepare for a battle on the morrow." Lancelot stared at him in awe, his mouth gaping. "Go with the others," he insisted. "I cannot follow you, Lancelot."

"Why?" the young, black-haired knight asked.

"I know my purpose, Lancelot," was Arthur's reply. "I must stay here, and help these people fight for their land, fight for freedom."

"The Woads?" Arthur nodded. "They can fight for their own land!" Lancelot shouted angrily.

"They need my help," Arthur replied. "All that we've been through, Lancelot, all my years spent here…have led me to this moment. I cannot fail these people, their freedom, or myself. My place is here now, and forever will be."

"Come home with us, Arthur," Lancelot said, heaving a sigh, his eyes were pleading.

Arthur turned his back on his best friend. "This is my home," said he, leaving Lancelot behind.

"Arthur!" the knight called after him, but was ignored. "Arthur, don't!"

"Let him be," Guinevere breathed, coming up behind Lancelot, and placing tow warm hands on his shoulder. He immediately loosened them, as if by her command and then she released, realizing what she was doing.

He turned around, meeting her friendly and comforting gaze. "He will die tomorrow," he said, wearily.

Guinevere took a deep breath. "I know," she said with regret.

"Then why? Why does he do this?"

"Because he believes in a higher purpose, Lancelot," Guinevere answered softly. She was wearing a flowing teal gown, and her rich brown hair swayed in the calm breeze.

"What purpose?" Lancelot demanded of her.

"Freedom," she said simply. "It is an honorable purpose. He will die fighting for a righteous cause" Guinevere looked down. "As may I," she said, looking up again, into Lancelot's dark, captivating eyes.

"No," Lancelot breathed, softly. He stroked her hair delicately with his right hand. Guinevere closed her eyes, almost afraid to watch him. He moved his body two steps closer to hers and shut his eyes, opening his mouth slightly. Guinevere held her breath and moved her lips apart, a little unsure of herself.

Their lips brushed against one another, and then the kiss ended. It was Lancelot. He backed away from Guinevere, with horror in his eyes. "No," he repeated. "I can't do this to Arthur. He's my friend, my brother."

Guinevere felt her cheeks grow a rosy pink. Her eyes were moist with tears as she sped past Lancelot to follow Arthur, the short train of her dress trailing behind her. The knight's gaze followed her until she disappeared from sight.

A/N: Please review! Thanks.


	17. The Woad and the Knight

**A/N: Yay! I'm finally updating, you guys! Aren't you proud of me! Sorry this chapter is so late, and kinda short, but I really can't put EVERYTHING in it, so you'll have to use your imaginations. And keep in mind, this IS PG-13, or since they changed the ratings to some weird new system that's really confusing and pointless, it's rated T. (You'll see why) so, anyways…I hope you guys can handle it! I'm sure you can, b/c you guys are so cool! Lol, anyway, here the next chapter, and please review! My goal is to get at least 150 reviews by the time this story is over, and I'm almost finished. **

**As I've mentioned before, updates will be a little slow because I'm so busy with life and writing my other fanfic and fictional stories right now. Thanks for being patient with me! And thanks again for all the wonderful reviews. I'm happy to see new names reviewing…please continue. **

**-Modesty **

**Irishfire: Thanks for your comments. I'm sorry you didn't like the Lance/Guen stuff, but I felt like I should have put it in there. **

**ChildlikeEmpress: Ok, and once you get that time machine to work, drop me an email and I'll join you. Lol. **

**Chapter Sixteen: The Woad and the Knight **

Adima felt her heart drop in her chest as Tristan turned to her. She could not read the feelings in his eyes, but she sensed that they were full of some kind of unhappiness. She felt it too. A black pair of jaws seemed to suddenly gain its appetite, ripping at her insides with a fierce hunger. She had felt this way the day she left Tristan. It was not all that long ago, she reminisced with a frown.

She suddenly realized her past would repeat itself. She would be forced to be separated from him again, she thought. "Tristan," she beckoned him to her. He had been watching after Arthur as he descended swiftly down the stairs, Lancelot trailing after him, and then Guinevere following. He was the only knight who had watched what his fellow knight had done with Guinevere, though the Woad did not know it. Tristan thought about commenting on it to Adima, but refrained, and remained silent, as he so often was. What would be the point, anyway?

He turned his gaze as Adima called his name, her eyes full of warmth, a forced and weak smile upon her lips. He went to her, but did not take her in arms. He leaned his body against the railing of the cold stone wall and looked out over the vast distance. His gaze soon fell upon the Saxons.

Adima frowned, stepping closer to him. She put a weary hand on his shoulder, and he finally turned to her. She was beautiful, he thought, as the wind tossed her rich brown hair about her face and twirled her pale dress so that it danced around her. She was elegant.

Adima's forced smile faded as she looked into the knight's deep brown eyes. "Tristan," she repeated, speaking softly. "I now know what is to be our fate." He looked down at her, wondering what it was that she meant. She could see that he was confused, she read it in his eyes, and smiled at him warmly. "You will go search for your homeland to the east and across the sea," she took a strand of hair that hung before his eyes and brushed it away, gently. "And I will stay here," she glanced down. "I will fight with my sister." All tranquility was gone from her voice now; she was stern, and her face grave.

It appeared as if he was about to protest, but Tristan did no such thing. "I will come back," he said gruffly.

"You will," Adima agreed, smiling slightly, and taking his hand in hers. "And for now…" she backed away, leading him toward the stairs. Her eyes sparkled and her face brightened as she spoke. "Come," she said. "The wind here is bitter."

"Do you grow cold?" Tristan asked, concerned, not at all noticing the flirtatiousness in her voice.

"I do," Adima inched closer to him, her lips almost touching his, curving into a smile. She felt him lean closer to her and they kissed for a moment, and all her fears melted away. "Do you know of a place we could go?" she asked, playfully.

Tristan finally seemed to be catching on, but his face was ever so serious, as if he did not quite understand. "We could…I could take you to my quarters," he offered.

"That should be very nice," said the Woad with a grin. And then he led her down the stone steps and past the courtyard, through an alley, and into the knights' quarters, where a room was kept for him and the other knights.

Tristan's room was only a small dark space with little furniture; a small bed and a table beside it, with no chair as a partner. There was a small window beside his bed, and a pale ray of gleaming moonlight spilled upon the stone floor. A large crimson rug decorated the floor with simple patterns, nothing as fancy as Arthur's room.

It was by the light of the night's moon that Adima and Tristan stood, talking by the doorway, and after a time moved to sit on the side of the bed. Tristan closed the door behind him when they entered, and the hall outside was silent. They spoke for nearly an hour, talking of family, and what Tristan remembered of his homeland and family. Adima told him of her parents, who she had little known, and explained to Tristan that Merlin had taken Guinevere and herself in and raised them as his own daughters, and that she thought of him as her father, and loved him so.

When all this was done, Adima could think of little else to speak of. Her breath seemed caught in her throat as she grew aware of the passing time. It would be daybreak in several hours, she feared, and for a moment, she hated it. She hated the day- wishing it would never come. If only time could stop; wait for her, and wait for Tristan, and stop forever so she could be with him.

Tristan watched in silence as she peered out the window, wordless. "You fear tomorrow," he acknowledged, and she turned to him, staring him right in the eye.

"I do," she breathed, her words trembling as they left her lips with slight hesitation. She shut her eyes tightly, feeling them grow wet with tears. "Do you…" she began, slowly, casting her eyes to the floor. "Do you promise…" she felt choked by tears. "Promise you'll return for me?" She looked into Tristan's eyes.

"I promise, Adima," he gave his word to her, and she instantly fell into his arms.

She remained, safe in his warm embrace for a time, and then slowly sat up again, all the while looking right at him. The sleeve of her gown had drooped past her shoulder, and could feel the cold air on her arm. She glanced down, Tristan following her gaze. The night was silent.

Tristan reached his hand out to the light fabric, pulling it up onto her shoulder again. Adima smiled. Reaching down to his hand, she pulled her sleeve down again. The knight's brow furrowed. "No," she whispered. Adima bit her lips with apprehension. Tristan drew back, not sure what to do. Adima slid closer to Tristan, feeling the warmth of his body against her own, and he finally understood.

Adima's heart was pounding in her chest. She was excited and frightened, proud, and loved, all at the same time, and she couldn't hold it all in. She knew there would be a battle when the sun rose, and she also knew that there was a chance, however small or large, that she would never see another night- this could be her last. She wanted to spend it with Tristan, and he with her.

The Woad had never felt so alive in her life, never so loved, nor wanted, nor so understood, and Tristan felt the same. But however wonderful life may have seemed, Adima could not bend time to her will, and within the next few hours, the sun rose.

A/N: It's short, I know, but bear with me. The next chapters will be longer- I promise. Please review!


	18. Morning

**A/N: Well, sorry again for being late. I've been really busy, as you probably could have guessed, and my beta reader got sick for a while (and still kinda is), so she couldn't read anything for a while. ****It'll be a week or so before the next update (again). OMG, you guys…I just found out the other day that adima is a disease…isn't that horrible? I'm not sure if it's spelled the same, but it's the name for a disease. My friend had told me that once but she said she wasn't sure, so I didn't really care, but I heard it from an adult this time! I feel really bad…hey; maybe I'll name my next character strep! Who knows? **

**A Phoenix Fire: Yay! You gave me my 150th review! Thanks! **

**ChildlikeEmpress: Lol, have fun with that wrench. **

**Tracy137: Who knows who I'll kill…? It'll be a surprise till the end! **

**IrishFire: I know! I'm jealous of my own character! But, I guess that's why we writers write romantic fan fiction, isn't it? To see what our characters (aka: ourselves) do when presented with hot guys that we adore and love! I actually kinda like the idea of Guinevere and Lance…I'm not sure why. I didn't really like him much in the movie, but then again, I didn't care for Arthur either…I pretty much just liked Tristan. Lol, but I think Guinevere and Lance would make a good couple, and had feelings for each other, by Gwen chose Arthur in the end to unite their people. **

**Camlann: Yeah, sorry about the length of the chapter. I did my best…lol. You know, Tristan still is a hard nut to crack! It's STILL hard to get him in character, but I'm hoping I can pull it off, lol. **

**Chapter Seventeen: Morning **

Adima awoke to the chill of the dawn. Once she rose from her sleep, she blinked her eyes, wearily, and a long yawn broke into a smile as she glanced down at the still warm spot beside her on the bed. Her outstretched arms reached high into the sky as she lengthened her muscles like a cat when woken from its sleep.

But what she did not expect was the empty space in the bed beside her where she could still feel the heat from Tristan's warm body. He was gone. Where was he, and when did he leave? She asked herself, worriedly.

Before she had time to ponder the matter, the door of Tristan's room opened and the knight himself walked in, a ripe, green apple cupped in his palm. In an instant, Adima had pulled the milk-white sheets over her body, but when Tristan shut the door behind him, she relaxed a little, with a sigh.

"I thought you'd awaken hungry," the knight offered, kindly, setting the apple in Adima's open palm. He sat on the bed beside her, wearing a pale russet tunic and trousers.

"I did," Adima replied, kissing him on the lips, her mouth lifting upward with a smile.

Their lips parted, and Adima bit hers with a still grin, blushing slightly. "The sun has barley risen," she said, bringing the fresh smelling fruit to her mouth. "How long have you been awake?"

Tristan watched her as she crunched hard on the apple, ripping its tough green flesh with her teeth. A little dribble of juice trickled down her lower lip and onto her chin. Adima quickly wiped her mouth with her hand and offered the apple to the knight with the other. "Apple?"

Tristan smiled. "Not long. It's for you," he said, gruffly. "I'm not hungry."

A square of light melted into the room through the small window above the bed. Adima seemed to be bathed in it, her back against the stone wall. Tristan frowned. Would this be their last morning together? How could he hunger for food at this moment? All he hungered for was her. Her thirsted for her, too. A craving that would never be satisfied unless she was with him; in his arms, by his side, in his heart, forever.

Tristan knew all too well the feeling of starvation- he had known it all his life. Growing up, his family never had much food, and the Romans, when they took him to transport to his post, had not spared much of their food for him. Even on scouting expeditions he didn't get much to eat. But food was not all he had been starved of; freedom, as well. But he had that now, and he didn't want to starve ever again.

Adima's eyes glazed over with a saddened color to them- a color Tristan had never seen before and it stole him away from his dreary thoughts. "You should ready your things," she said, blandly, avoiding his eye.

"I've done so," Tristan replied. "I never carry much." This was followed by a short time of silence; both Adima and Tristan spent gazing around the room as if afraid to face each other.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. "Tristan," Lancelot's voice broke through the wood as if there were no barrier. "We're getting the horses ready. You should get prepared, too." His voice was solid, and Adima noted that it sounded troubled as well.

Tristan stood. Adima bit into the apple once more, tasting the ripe juice as it swished around in her mouth. She chewed angrily at the crunchy inside of the fruit. As Tristan made for the door, he turned to Adima and said, "You should dress. I'll go to Passebreul…"

"No," Adima said softly. Carrying the blanket around her with one hand, she stepped up to Tristan and leaned her body against his. "Stay with me," she said, closing her eyes.

Tristan smiled. He'd hope she'd offer him a place to stay, even for a while. He wasn't sure if she'd need her privacy or prefer to be left alone while she dressed.

He watched her with loving eyes as she dressed and fixed her hair. With a sad smile, she walked over to him, while he waited in the center of the room. "I'm ready," she told him, taking his hand in hers.

_I don't know if I am_, Tristan thought, sadly. _No, I'm not._ He wanted to talk to her, but he couldn't find the words to say, and even if he found the words, he didn't think he could speak for the terrible lump in his throat was choking him, painfully.

Adima's heart pounded as Tristan led her through the knights' barracks, through a small courtyard, and into the stables. _Don't be afraid_, she kept telling herself. _Take in every moment. Don't be afraid. There's nothing to fear…yes, there is…no, don't think of it. Don't be afraid. _She had to shut her eyes more than once to keep the tears at bay.

The stables smelled of fresh hay and horse droppings. The droppings were not as pleasant as Adima thought the smell of hay was. She had never smelled hay before, but the scent would stay with her forever. It was a clean, refreshing scent.

The stables were long, and every stall had a horse inside, waiting to be groomed or saddled and bridled, or taken out for a walk. The stallions and mares called to each other with neighs and grunts, and snorts of all kinds. Adima giggled as one sneezed when she and Tristan walked by. She pat it gently on the warm pink flesh of its nose, and it ducked its head back inside its stall, eyes wide with her new scent.

Lancelot, she noticed, was saddling his dark bay steed, and Gawain was grooming his grey stallion, brushing the horse's soft coat with lazy strokes, eyes fixed upon his steed. He appeared tired and restless to Adima, and she felt the same.

Bors walked in the stables grumbling and groaning, two of his children skipping along beside him. One was a little boy, probably only four or five, and the girl was around the age of eight.

"Had a long night, Bors?" Lancelot asked, with a grin, as Bors swung heavily from side to side as he waddled towards his steed's stall.

"Oh, shut up, Lance," the knight grumbled. "My head hurts like nothing I've known…"

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Bors," Lance grinned, patting his horse on the neck. Bors ignored his comment, and began muttering kind words to his horse. His children skipped around at his feet, anxiously. "We wanna ride, too," the little girl said. "Let us ride, Father, please."

"Please, please," echoed the boy. He had his mother's dark brown hair and soft, delicate eyes.

"Oh, shush, the both of you," spat Bors. "Maybe I'll let you ride on the way." Not satisfied, the girl crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, but Bors ignored her and opened the latch to the stall. He opened the stall door, walked inside, and led his horse out to be groomed and saddled, his children kept closely at his side, offering their help if it was needed.

Tristan finally stopped at the door of Breul's stall. "Here, boy," he whispered softly. His horse turned around to face him and strode up swiftly to see his master. Tristan stepped aside so Adima could pet the horse's head, and then he too, led the giant beast out of its stall.

"May I help?" Adima asked once Tristan had Breul out of his stall. "I'd like to groom him, too."

"Sure," Tristan agreed.

"Show me how…"

"I will," Tristan offered as Adima stroked the horse's hide gently with her bare hand. Tristan left her side a moment and came back quickly with a small brush that Joles had handed to him. "Take this," he gave it to Adima who began stroking the horse's neck with it. "Good," Tristan observed. Adima turned her head to watch Lance and Gawain and Bors groom their steeds, and followed their lead. Every once in a while Tristan would guide her hand across the horse's hide.

It felt good, Adima thought, for Tristan to teach her something new again. He had already taught her so many things.

Once Breul was finished with his grooming and Tristan had saddled and bridled him, he turned to Adima. "Arthur has already returned your sister and Talso to their home. They left early this morning." Adima frowned. "It is time I returned you to them," Tristan muttered. "We should be off soon." Adima nodded, but said nothing. Tristan let her mount first and then he rose up behind her on the horse. Adima remembered the first times she had ridden with Tristan. The first rode had not nearly been as pleasant as all those that followed she thought with a sad grin.

"Goodbye, honorable knights," Adima called as they quietly walked toward the stable door. Gawain, Bors, Lancelot, and now Galahad where all there. They fared her well and their goodbyes were over.

Adima remembered every step of the ride out of the fort. Every moment was a pain, and yet a blessing to be with Tristan. When they left the wall, Tristan urged Breul into a steady canter, and then a gallop. They reached the edge of the forest she called home in little time. Adima dreaded the moment when the horse would come to a halt.

**A/N: Please review! And, this chapter is dedicated to Kayla Malfoy, my good friend! **


	19. Preperations

A/N: Ok, here's the next chapter…no duh. So, I hope you all enjoy and, um, it's kinda choppy, but I'm sure it's not that bad…lol. Oh, and there's some major projects coming up for school, so updates will be slow after this. Sorry.

Camlann: Yeah, Bors' kids are so cute! Anyway, I put Orianne and Dayn in here cuz I said I would…hope that's ok. The battle's coming up next! I'm still not sure how this is gonna end…

Irishfire: Lol…Edima…that's really sad. Too bad I didn't know all about that before! Oh well.

**Chapter Eighteen: Preparations **

Passebreul's hooves clopped smoothly along the soft, fresh mud. It had rained somewhat in the night, and a cold chill still clung in the air. When the grey horse was pulled to a stop, Tristan dismounted in silence. He held out his hand for Adima, and she took it as he helped her catch her footing. She was sore from the ride, but that mattered little to her. She smiled, reflecting upon her first ride, which had left her feeling much worse; she remembered that she had had pains following her fall for days. Funny, how fate can turn enemies into lovers with the blessing of time. Time- Adima wanted it to stop, she wanted more of it.

A light mist crawled along the forest floor, and seeped through onto the green and brown hillside. Adima could feel the soft silver mist on her skin; it was cool, and refreshing. Breul rocked his head, nervously, eyeing his surroundings like a deer surrounded by wolves. He was not familiar with this place, and the new smells frightened him, and somehow, he thought something was watching him from afar. He snorted, hoping his master would comfort him with a soft pat or soothing word, but Tristan had other things on his mind than the comfort of his horse.

"This is where I leave you," he whispered as Adima glanced towards the woods.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she answered, solemnly.

Tristan cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. "The Saxons…they, fight hard…" he began. "B-be careful, they…they use strength and might to bring down their enemies. They'll have swords and crossbows so…beware of their archers…"

"Tristan," Adima stopped him. "I am not afraid, and you should not worry for me," she gave him a small smile, hoping that is was enough to give a promise, but the knight was not completely assured.

"I saw how you fought them last time," he said, gruffly. "Give me reasons not to worry."

Adima let out a small laugh, her eyes finally coming to life. "I'll be more careful this time," she promised. "And I'll have Guinevere beside me. She is protective…as you know. She won't let any harm come to me, I promise."

Tristan smiled faintly, but his eyes were sad. "Somehow, I cannot stop fretting."

"Oh, Tristan," Adima kissed him and then stepped back with a fresh smile upon her lips. "I will be fine. And what of you? Stay out of trouble on your adventures."

"I will try," he jested.

"Somehow I cannot help but fret," Adima retorted. "Gawain'll look after you," she said with a giggle. "And keep Bors and his children out of trouble."

"I will."

"And tell Vanora I will miss her. She was kind to me, and I never got to say goodbye."

"I will."

"And…" Adima stopped, her eyes filling with tears. She blinked, looking away for a moment, and then turned back to Tristan. "I-I should go," she said, finally. "It is time."

She turned from him, but Tristan held out his hand. "Wait," he grabbed her gently by the arm, pulling her back towards him. He then took a ring off his finger and planted it in Adima's palm. She looked down at it in awe. It was a man's ring, big and wide, but she didn't mind. It was black; perhaps made some sort of dark jewel or stone Adima was unfamiliar with, and on top of the black was a border of silver lines, vines, Adima thought, twisting and entwining in one another to form a bonding circle.

"It's beautiful," she breathed softly.

"Keep it," said Tristan. Adima looked up at him as she slipped the ring onto her finger. It was large, but it fit her well enough. "I will come back for it," he added. "This ring… as long as you wear it, know that I will find you."

"I will wear it until your return," Adima promised him with another kiss. With that, she turned her head and walked swiftly into the woods, disappearing into the soft grey veil of mist.

With nothing more to be said or done, Tristan mounted, still staring off into the woods. He couldn't see the Woad any longer, but he knew she was there, going home to her people. He realized they were doing the same things that day: going home.

"Did ya get lost?" shouted Bors as Tristan appeared on Passebreul's back over a hilltop.

Tristan didn't answer. His eyes were on the sky as his hawk circled above him, screeching. He clucked at her and she flew down to him, perching on his outstretched arm as he rode up beside Bors and the caravan.

"Ahh, I knew Tristan wasn't leaving us," said Gawain. "Packed his things on the wagon this morning."

"I did," Tristan said, quietly. He was about to tell the others what Adima had asked him to say to them, but he couldn't speak. His throat seemed clenched by some fist and beside those two lone words, he could not speak.

Bors and Gawain must have noticed his lack, for they did not speak further to him, other than to offer him a place further up the caravan where they were headed, for Bors didn't want to ride near the back. At first Tristan kept Breul at a slow walk, but then felt too alone, a strange feeling for the scout, so he urged the horse into a trot and joined his friends.

All the knights were there, save Dag, who was long dead and buried, and Arthur, who Tristan assumed would soon join him.

"No one could stop Arthur?" he asked, breaking a long silence between him and the others.

Lance turned to him with a frown. "No. He wouldn't listen to any of us. Stupid man's gonna get himself killed."

Arthur watched the caravan as it slowly moved on through the hillside. It was like a tiny worm, inching its way meekly across the land. Red banners of the Romans flapped freely in the wind, and horses snorted and grunted as they trudged through the grass and mud.

He missed them already. He would never see any of them again, he thought, with a heavy heart. A pity; they were good men- good friends, the best he'd ever had, and he thought it an honor to have known every one of them. His heart was heavy with grief, and he wished he was with the knights at that moment, but he knew that his place was not with them, but on this field of battle, soon to be painted with blood.

Though this thought showered him with despair, it did not frighten him. Arthur was a man of justice, and he knew the cause he served was just. He was fighting for something the Saxons would never understand; he was fighting for freedom.

Adima dipped her hands in the cool clay. The blue dye clung to her fingers and as she lifted her fingers from the bowl, the droplets of woad that dripped form them fell like tears back into the bowl, creating a blue ripple of waves upon the surface.

Guinevere could feel her sister's cold fingers as they drew blue dashes and swirls across her back. Adima had already been painted, and now it was her sister's turned.

Talso tapped her finger lightly on Guinevere's brow and drew a swirl leading up to her forehead. Then, backing away, she examined her work. "I am done," she said in her native language. "You are ready for battle, Guinevere."

"You are," Adima agreed, setting the wooden bowl on the earth beside her. "You are finished."

Guinevere nodded in approval. "Thank you both," she said, softly. Talso had already been painted as well.

Orianne, another Woad approached the three friends and eyed them, satisfied. "You three look ready for battle," she complimented with a smile. Her friend, Dayn, came up beside her. He too was painted, but his love was not. "As do you," she said to him. "May the gods be good, and not send you back to me dead or broken."

"They will be kind," Guinevere assured her. "Today will be our day of victory, my friend; I can feel it in the air."

"I'm glad Tristan's gone," she heard her sister whisper.

"What?"

Adima was looking out over the hillside by the border of the forest. The mist had cleared and the sun was growing higher in the sapphire sky. She could see Arthur standing on a far off hilltop, a banner waving on its pole in his hand.

She turned to Guinevere. "At least…he's safe where he's going."

"I wish I could say the same for Arthur," said Guinevere with a sigh. "But it is good that the others will be safe."

Adima smiled at her sister, but her smile quickly faded when she turned her gaze back to Arthur on the hill. The knight was not alone. "Oh no," she whispered under her breath, eyes widening with horror. Guinevere heard her and took her sister's hand; she could see them all herself. Arthur's knights stood proudly on either side of him- all of his knights. "What is he doing?" Adima almost screamed, her heart pounding.

"They are fighting for what Arthur is fighting for," said Talso, coming up beside them. "They've realized what he had long before seen. They are fighting for our freedom."

"No," Adima heard herself say. "He must leave- they must leave," her eyes suddenly were wet with tears. "This cannot be happening."

"They are knights, little sister," Guinevere tried her best to reassure her sister. "They are strong and skilled. I have no doubts the gods will spare them."

Adima could tell she was lying, but she chose to not mention it.

Cerdic smiled. _This is a man worth killing_, he thought. _And I'll bring an end to all his friends too. _

He turned to his son, who had been ready for battle hours before. Cynric's scar looked raw and red on his face, and Cerdic smiled. "He's got a plan, this Roman," he said with a wry smile. "Send what's left of your infantry."

Cyrnric glared at his father, his eyes flaring with anger and hatred. "You want to kill my men?" he asked, heatedly.

"They're _my_ men!" Cerdic shouted back.

Cynric stared at him hesitantly. He didn't want to, but he knew he had to obey his father. Turning, he nodded at his captain, and almost a hundred men started for the wall.

"Fall in formation!" his captain shouted.

Cynric frowned, picking up his heavy feet to join his men. "No," his father held out a hand and without even looking at him said, "you stay here with me."

"Knights," Arthur began, as he watched the Saxon move toward the wall. "The gift of freedom is yours by right." His men listened intently. "But the home we seek resides not in some distant land. It's in us, and in our actions on this day!" Tristan nodded slightly in agreement.

Arthur lifted his sword, Excalibur high above his head. "RAWW!" he bellowed.

"RAWWW!" echoed the knights, all but Tristan, as they stabbed their gleaming standards into the earth.

Tristan readied his bow and arrows and turned his gaze to a tree in the distance. Just above the tree, his hawk screeched, circling it twice and then flying off in the distance.

Tristan raised the bow to face the tree and lifted an arrow upon the bow rest. Silently, he plucked the string, and the arrow went sailing into the air, disappearing in the emerald depths of the trees' leaves. He hit his mark. A body fell from the treetop, and that seemed to be the signal for the knights to move.

_I am already free_, thought Tristan, as Passabreul glided downward. _I am free. _

**Yay! Did I do good? Please let me know what you think! Thanks. Oh, and Dayn and Orianne belong to Camlann! **


	20. Blood and Ash

**A/N: Sorry this took so long! I've been so busy I can't believe it! And I'm ashamed! Yeah, sometimes I can be late on posting, but this is outrageous! I send you all my dearest apologies, and for those of you who are wonderful x 2, I will be updating The Mask and the Mirror shortly. Luv ya! Please review, and don't be bitter or angry! No time for replies, either…**

**Modesty **

**Chapter Twenty: Blood and Ash **

"There! On the wall!" a Saxon soldier shouted, pointing to Arthur and his knights as they sped down the hill on horseback. They were soon hidden by a wall of flame and ash.

Alahan squeezed his eyelids almost to the point of being shut. His eyes burned with the ash and flames that clung to the almost palpable air. He didn't have to wait long before death was upon him and his men. Shouts rang like a chorus through the black and choking air. He glanced all around him but was blinded by ash. He lunged forward with a ready sword, but caught nothing as Arthur drove his horse by, swinging his own sword below him.

Alahan growled with displeasure. Shadows of men danced all around him. Some were on foot, some on horses, and many were falling, and mouths open wide in a deafening scream, arms flailing in the air with pain. It was not two minutes into the battle when nearly all his men were defeated. Alahan was traveling in circles, running about, sword held at the ready, searching for someone to kill.

He found several mere peasants and put a swift end to their lives, driving his sword into their chests without a hint of mercy. He looked up, hearing a strange sound. Suddenly, a rain of arrows descended upon him. Raising his arm to shield him as best he could from the arrows, Alahan scowled. _Where is Lord Cerdic?_ he thought. _We need reinforcements now!_ His men were dying, falling helplessly all around him. He could see horses with shadow riders upon their backs dancing through the wall of flames and ash, but could scarcely make out his enemy. He was Cynric's second in command, and he did not want to let his prince down. He then heard a clanging of footsteps behind him. Turning quickly, the last thing he saw was Tristan's arrow flying through the air at his forehead.

Tristan reigned up his horse when the screaming quieted. He glanced left as Bors screamed, plunging a blade into a Saxon's back and yanking it out again with a forceful tug. "Yes!" he roared, when finished, guiding his horse toward Tristan, a grim smile upon his face.

"That's not all of them," Tristan said calmly, almost sinister.

Bors' smile faded, then with thought, reappeared again. He looked at Tristan. "Least your wench and her friends are here to help!" Before Tristan could reply- which he probably wouldn't have done anyway- Bors had kicked his steed in the flank and was off again.

Tristan glanced up the hill to his right, where he could see the silhouette of a hundred figures standing proudly behind the ash. He searched for Adima, but could not see any faces in the distance. A sudden, loud noise drew his attention to the gate. He could make out a lone Saxon rushing through the freshly opened doors, staggering and breathing heavily.

The Saxon rushed, tripped, picked himself up, and rushed again towards his leader. Panting heavily, he fell to the ground when he reached Cerdic and his son. "What happened?" Cerdic already knew the answer- it was as he feared. When the soldier could not say anything, but continued to pant, grasping onto his life by a string, Cerdic offered him death without a choice. He plunged his sword into the man's heart, and without another word, looked to his son, and raised his hand high above his head.

"Move out!" Cynric ordered.

A wave of Saxons rushed angrily towards the gate and seeped like venom onto the battleground on the other side. After taking a quick look at his surroundings, Cerdic motioned for one soldier. "Redwall," he commanded. The Saxon quickly was at his side. "The left flank," he said, pointing. Then he turned to his anxious son. "Go with him," he instructed.

Redwall nodded. "Move out!" Reluctantly, Cynric followed him to the left flank of what remained of the Saxon army.

From where Adima stood on the hilltop, she could see the two flanks of the Saxon army falling quickly into place below her, and the knights all finding their places on the battleground. Behind her, catapults were being positioned. She stood side by side with her sister, the edge of the forest, her home, behind her. Talso was not far off, prepared to fight for her newly acquired freedom.

Talso's eyes were filled with a deep fury. She had waited so many years for the moment to return home, and she wasn't about to let the Saxons take back her fresh freedom. No, she would die before she would let them have her again.

"Do not be afraid," Adima heard Guinevere whisper; her sister wasn't even looking at her, but staring straight ahead of them.

"I am not," Adima answered, boldly. She took a deep breath, breathing in the toxic smells of burning flesh, blood, and a dying fire. She gripped her sword tighter. Like her sister, in this battle, she would be fighting combat, sword to sword.

She could feel the cold ring around her finger and glanced down at it momentarily with a frown. She couldn't see Tristan anymore.

Merlin shouted something, but he was so far off down the line of Woads that Adima could not hear. She suspected it was some battle cry, for after that, more cries shouted, and her sister drew her sword high above her head.

"Ahh!" Guinevere screamed, her legs beginning to fly beneath her as she ran. More commands were sounded, and burning rocks were sent flying onto the air from the catapults behind Adima.

The Woad followed her sister with any hesitation, and it seemed that every other painted body in the world ran beside them. Adima shouted a long battle cry, her heart racing in her chest. Most likely the Saxons would have it cut out, but she didn't care- she couldn't even think of that at the moment. All she thought of was the battle ahead. She kept a clear picture in her mind's eye of a Saxon soldier armed and traitorous. Her ears were flooded with the sound of battle cries and screams of torture, and the clashing ad wailing of steal against stone and the loud thunder of boulders smashing against the earth, flames licking their hides as they flattened the enemy.

Before she knew it, Adima was lost in a crowd of soldiers. Warriors, slaves, men and women; they were all there. Nothing mattered anymore, except to kill. Blood was the object, death was the enemy, and life was the gift.

Almost immediately, Adima took one. As a Saxon came at her, she lurched her sword forward into the man's leathered belly. He groaned in pain, but she was deaf to the sound as she yanked the blade out from within him. She grunted with the effort, but had to smile a little for her success. However, she didn't let one kill distract her, for there were far as many more to make.

"Raaa!" Bors bellowed as he urged his steed forward into the heart of the battle. Saxon arms tore at his feet and legs, but he thrashed his sword about and cut them all away. Frightened by a sudden burst of flames a few feet ahead, his horse reared and Bors felt himself slide swiftly off the saddle. With a crash he fell to the ground. Kicking and screaming, he fought his way to his feet, and ignoring the pain that seared dup through his spine and poured into his muscles, he reminded himself of his current situation, and in time, found more Saxon blood on his hands as he tore through the crowd with his iron knuckle bands.

Gawain roared, too, as he urged his horse into the battle. Like a flying arrow, he sped, one with his steed. His eye caught a particular Saxon who was chasing after a blonde haired Woad. He never knew if it was Talso, but he didn't care to find out in another second. He thrust his arm forward, and released a long axe into the air. It flew straight into the Saxon's hide, knocking the man over with such a force, he died almost instantly.

Gawain looked around, but the Woad woman was gone. He realized he would be of more use to his companions on foot, and quickly dismounted.

Tristan's arrows sailed through the air, piercing Saxon flesh here and there, until he finally ran out. With a grunt, he pulled Passebreul to a halt and dismounted. Glancing quickly around him, he eyed his surroundings, and unsheathed his long curved sword.

A flash of auburn caught his eye, and he turned. Adima twirled around as a Saxon drove his blade into the air just inches from her bare ribs. She jumped to the side as he lunged again, but this time was caught by the edge of his blade. Crimson stained her ash-blotted skin, but she ignored the pain. Scowling, she ran at the man, which took him completely by surprise and thrust her sword into him. Peering into her almond eyes and grunting with pain, the soldier fell to the ground and took his last breath.

Adima clutched her side, and with a grimace, lifted her bloodstained palm.

Gritting his teeth, Tristan ran towards her. A pair of soldiers, one Saxon and one Woad blocked him with their bodies as they fought. Another pair of soldiers stepped in his way. Tristan hastily dodged them and ran around. By the time he reached the other side, Adima was gone from sight.


	21. Briac's Revenge

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, you guys, I've been really busy, but I enjoyed writing this chapter SO much! I love all the drama and the cliff hanger at the end is the best! Lol. Again, thanks so much to al the readers, AND reviewers, especially the reviewers cuz I'm writing this for you guys! There's only like…three chapters left, so hang in there with me. Can you believe I've been writing this story almost a year? Lol, I know lately I've been slow, but that's cuz I'm really busy. I should update again sooner this time though, but you must understand, that even though it's summer, I have a job and class, so I have little time to write anymore. Enjoy this chapter, and please REVIEW! **

**-Modesty **

**Chapter Nineteen: Briac's Revenge **

Adima couldn't shut out the sounds- the battle cries, screams of lament, death, and torture. She could smell death; it smelled of freshly spilled blood. She flinched even as she cut the throat of a Saxon, blood spurting across the bridge of her nose and cheek.

She looked up to the grave-tinted sky, a coarse, harsh grey, heavy with defeat and darkening clouds. Glancing around her, Adima could see men and women falling to their knees onto the bloodstained earth, the very solid, rock, and puddle of blood that they were fighting for.

_Why did the Saxons come?_ Adima questioned through gritted teeth. _What life could they bring to this place? This is our land; it always will be, as it was from the beginning. _

She could not contain her fury at this moment, and like an unstoppable machine, cut through Saxon hide and armor without a second thought. She knew she would regret the bloodshed in time, but now was not the moment to lament the dead, especially the Saxons.

She could feel it. Blood trickled like a tiny waterfall down her left side. Closing her hand around the cut, she grimaced. Her hair clung to the sides of her face with sweat. When she lifted her palm, it was stained red, but Adima looked away, trying to ignore the pain. She saw Gawain fighting with an axe to her right, and up ahead, on the side of a hill, she caught sight of Talso. She grinned. _Revenge is sweet, friend, _she thought. _I'm glad you could have it._

Tristan glanced around for Adima, but couldn't find her in the midst of battle. He was not given the opportunity to look more than three seconds when he was approached by a pair of Saxons. Both stood before him, swords at the ready, grinning with the thought of killing each other.

Tristan wet his lips and eyed his enemies. They were large, much taller than he, and appeared to be brothers for they both looked similar. Tristan tightened his grip on the sword he held and readied his stance, widening his legs and shoulders.

As the first Saxon came at him, he shouted a fierce battle cry and swung at Tristan as he passed him, but Tristan swerved at the last second and brought the curved sword down onto his enemy, leaving him as the Saxon fell, mortally wounded, to the earth.

Almost a second after the first Saxon had attacked, the second brother made his attempt. As he swung at Tristan, the knight ducked and drew a knife from his belt, aiming and firing at the Saxon; the blade hit its mark in the center of the Saxon's overgrown belly. Tristan stood up straight, and quickly found more Saxons to kill.

Cerdic calmly strode about the bloody battlefield, stepping over ash covered bodies with not a second glance. He swung his long sword from side to side as he made his way from one Woad to the other. As one spitfire woman came running at him, he simply raised his blade and as she came close enough to him, and was about to swing, he unexpectedly lunged forward, thrusting his blade into her. With a gasp of pain, she fell to the ground with no more breath in her.

Tristan was watching from afar. The battle, he noticed, was moving further away from him and the Saxon Lord. As the Saxon stepped closer to Tristan, the two stared each other straight in the eyes, and knew their battle was with each other.

One step. Another. With every step on the blood drenched ground that Tristan took, he drew ever closer to his enemy, and with every step came the feeling of an unnamable hatred, a deliberate longing to kill, to bleed the blonde haired man of his life. Something over Tristan at that moment that he could not tame if he'd tried. It was true hatred, pure hatred, something he knew he'd never felt before. The lust for death was one thing, but the love of it, was completely another.

"Dayn, look to Adima!" Guinevere shouted over the roar of the battle.

Dayn, a warrior who fought with the Woads, looked up as he heard Guinevere's call. She was pointing towards her sister who was fighting off several Saxons with two other Woad women. Adima was struggling, and the wound from her side was not merciful.

Guinevere could see the mark of blood growing on Adima's side, and she could tell her sister was in pain. As the Saxon soldier stepped forward, thrusting his blade at Adima, the Woad fell to the ground, tripping over a stone when she had attempted to duck.

Adima shut her eyes, preparing for the blow. _I am not afraid of death,_ she reminded herself, frantically. But instead of the blade falling upon her, a body did instead. Guinevere smiled a quick thank you at Dayn who had thrown a knife directly into the Saxon's ribs.

Adima grunted with pain as the Saxon's heavy form fell onto her. She struggled to lift herself up, but she was too weak to shake him off. His head, which had fallen onto her neck, was shaking lightly as she struggled to move him off of her, and his jaw hung loose. Adima took in a whiff of his breath and grunted at the stench.

"Get off!" she yelled as she gripped his shoulders and tried to force him off her.

Suddenly, she felt him move, but it was not of her doing. The Saxon growled as his large brown eyes thrust open. Staring the horrified Woad right in the eye he grinned slyly.

Before Adima could move her head, his lips were on hers. Though he could feel his time was waning, the thought of death brought no insecurities to the bleeding Saxon. He gripped Adima by the neck to stop her head from moving side to side furiously.

"No!" she screamed, wriggling her body and head in an attempt to get away from him.

"Stop moving!" he shouted, hoarsely.

Cerdic's eyes were calm, but Tristan could see a fire burning deep inside them. The Saxon saw the same fire in Tristan's eyes. "Let's be quick," he growled with a smile. "I've still got Arthur to kill."

The fire grew in Tristan's already wild eyes, and Cerdic knew it. With a grin, he continued. "And then that'll be the last of you…"

Tristan knew he had to be patient, wait for the opportune moment, steady himself before the strike, but he couldn't keep it in, the fire was burning so brightly now. He lunged forward, but Cerdic easily blocked his blow.

Tristan backed away, angered by his flawed strike, and continued walking slightly around Cerdic as the Saxon held his gaze with that never fading grin of his, the kind that tore into the soul.

Briac laid on the ground, spitting up blood, a scowl upon his face. He took his hand and wiped the blood from his mouth, glancing around him. He'd just been knocked down by a Saxon's blade, but he was still alive. It was a blow to the stomach, and a deafening pain crawled through him.

As his eyes began to wander across the battlefield, he caught sight of someone he had wished to meet again. Tristan. The knight seemed to be squaring off with a Saxon. Briac grinned, one last time as he turned to his right. A crossbow and two arrows lay beside him.

Tristan and Cerdic both made strikes this time. Only on this strike, Tristan aimed better, his sword cutting slightly into he Saxon's armor. Cerdic grimaced, surprised, but never glanced down at the wound, and tried to ignore it. The two backed off each other again, and made a third strike, and this time, continued to fight. Cerdic lashed out his sword, mirroring the wound that Tristan had given him.

Briac, with all the strength left in his body, aimed the crossbow. He had not used one before, and did know how, but he had watched several Saxons using it, and understood enough. As he took his last breath, Briac let the arrow sail through the sky.

**A/N: I promise, the next update will be in about a week or less because I wrote the chapter already, and I've started a War of the Worlds fic, so be an alert for that in the Miscellaneous Movies section coming soon. I'm almost done with this story! Please review to tell me you're still here! Thanks so much! **


	22. Badon Hill

**A/N: Hey there everybody…wow, I hoped you all liked the last chapter, even though didn't get much reviews…please review people, I honestly feel depressed when I don't get a lot, and I lose readers. It's not really that hard, come on. –Makes puppy dog face and begs- Anyways, this is getting intense…Now let me tell you before you read any further, it was extremely difficult to decide what to have happen to our heroes. I hope you all like the results, cuz it was hard for me to decide…the next chapter should be up shortly. **

**1time2many: Oh, lol, that's ok. Thanks for the review! **

**Irishfire: I'm sorry I made you wait so long, but my beta…grrr…anyways, please continue to review! Hope you enjoy this chapter with more battle stuff…the climax is coming! **

**Chapter Twenty: Badon Hill **

Adima could feel the energy in her body waning as it began to give up on her. She could hear her heart beating, and feel it pounding violently in her chest.

Tristan fell to his knees as the arrow's flight came to an end between his shoulder blades. He didn't know where it came from, but it didn't matter. He was down. Before he could stand, he looked up. Cerdic was towering above him, grinning. The blood glazed sword of Cerdic's seemed to glow as it was slowly raised higher and higher.

Tristan's head turned to his side, away from his enemy. He had a hold on his sword, but it was loose, and every breath he took had pained him. Death was inevitable, he could feel it.

A woman's screams.

Tristan heard it so clear, he thought it wasn't real. Of all the clashing and banging and yelling and moaning that echoed throughout the land, he had never heard anything as clear as that scream. He looked up to where the sound came from. "Adima."He could see a man on top of her, and he could tell that her fight had ended.

The Woad had used all her strength in that scream; it was a call. A call for help, for pain, or for anger, she did not know. It could have been a dying call for the Woad, but for Tristan, it was a savior.

Suddenly, all his strength seemed renewed. He gripped the pommel of his sword tightly, and rose to his feet. His sword clashed with Cerdic's so fiercely, that both men were thrown back a little. Tristan instantly readied his stance again, glancing quickly in Adima's direction and back again.

Adima's eyes were closed, and her body felt numb. She didn't even realize that she was free until she heard Talso's soothing voice. "Adima."

Adima opened her eyes to see the Saxon lying, dead beside her and Talso's sword wet with blood. "He would have raped you, if it weren't for me," she said with a smile. Talso held out her hand for Adima to take and slowly lifted her to her feet.

"Thank you," Adima breathed, softly, her legs quivering.

"You must get out of here," Talso instructed. "You can fight no longer."

"The…b-battle isn't…not over," Adima said, bending down to pick up her dropped sword. "I have to find Tristan." Talso's brow furrowed. "I saw him," Adima continued, frantically, and almost out of breath. I saw his face…I know….I've seen before…what's going to happen."

Talso helped Adima steady herself as her legs gave way to her damaged body. "What do you speak of?"

Adima's eyes widened. She was facing him now, Tristan and Cerdic. She could see them, below her, fighting. Without answering Talso's question, she began to run. Talso ran after her, yelling, ordering her to stop.

Adima tripped and fell over someone's arm; she could not see whose. She had dropped her sword when she fell, but did not take the time to pick it up again. With her arms shaking, she brought herself to her feet, coming almost face to face with Passebreul. She smiled slightly when she recognized the animal. Glancing over it, she could she that Tristan and the Saxon were far away. She wouldn't make it if she ran; she had no time.

"Breul," she whispered.

"Stop Adima," Talso called right behind her.

"Help me," said Adima. "Help me on this horse."

Talso didn't understand what Adima was doing, but when she looked into the Woad's eyes, she couldn't just turn away, nor deny her friend help. "Alright," she said, softly.

Adima gripped onto the horse's silvery mane with both bloodstained hands as Talso lifted her, by her feet, into the saddle. "Are you sure about this? Talso asked, wearily.

"Yes," answered Adima, staring right at Tristan. Without another word, she gave Passebreul a swift kick and the horse was off. Adima had no time to grab hold of the reins- they were dangling over the horse's neck, so she did her best to grip tightly onto Breul's thick mane.

Her entire body throbbed and ached as the horse bounced along, but after several strides, his pace quickened from a trot to a canter and the ride became much smoother.

Passebreul bounded over the fallen bodies of Woads, Romans, and Saxons alike and followed Adima's lead as she guided his head with her fingers, almost a pale white as she gripped onto his mane tighter and tighter with each step. They were getting closer.

Glancing quickly up the hill, Tristan lunged forward, but Cerdic blocked his blow with ease. He could see the knight's mind was frail, and Cerdic would use that to his advantage. Tristan could see the Saxon's large body on the side of the hill, but he could not see Adima. _Why has she stopped moving_? He thought.

His vision suddenly grew blurred with tears, but he blinked them away. Cerdic's sword suddenly clashed with his, knocking it right out of his hands. He almost didn't care. Tristan stood still for a moment, and then noticed the Saxon kick his weapon closer.

"Take it," he snarled.

Angrier than ever, Tristan grasped his long sword and shakily stood his ground. The two engaged again, and for a second time, Cerdic was able to split the knight from his main weapon. Tristan glanced up at the hill again, and felt all his energy leave his body at once.

Cerdic came closer than ever and brought his sword down upon the knight's chest, knocking Tristan to the ground. His bare hands clutched the muddy ground with hate. A finger without a ring particularly caught his attention and Tristan forced himself to his knees.

As Cerdic grinned once more, Tristan drew from his chest pocket, a dagger. Cerdic's eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise, but even as Tristan threw the dagger, the Saxon was able to fight it off by swinging his sword at the dagger, and swatting it away.

All Tristan's strength was gone. At one time, he would have aimed, and killed Cerdic instantly with that dagger, but now it just seemed that there was nothing left to fight for.

Adima's heart raced as she watched Cerdic calmly step closer and closer to Tristan. Cerdic could hear the thunderous chorus of a horse's footsteps, but at first ignored them. He approached the knight, looking directly into his eyes; he could see defeat in them.

Tristan then felt Cerdic grab a handful of his hair, and lift his head up towards the sky. There was a sudden screech, and Tristan's spirit almost lifted at the sight of his hawk. She flew gracefully above him, round and round, in a circle, and then she departed.

Cerdic lifted his sword.

"NO!"

He looked to his left where a woman on a horse was headed for him. Tristan looked too, and could see them out of the corner of his eye. Everything was blurry, and all he could see was a rider atop a grey horse, only yards, or seconds away.

And then he felt it, the stinging in his ribs. But the blade was gone, lifted almost immediately.

Adima ran Passebreul forward, pushing him harder with her feet. When they reached Cerdic, the horse didn't stop, and the Saxon stood his ground, certain the horse would halt.

Adima lost her balance at impact, falling face down into the earth, and behind her, she could hear the horse's hooves pounding against Cerdic's body as the steed finally halted.

The life seemed sucked out of her for a moment in time, and everything around Adima stood still. Everything went black, though she had kept her eyes open during the fall. Then she closed them, feeling someone's hands gently pulling on her waist and lifting her away from the darkness.

She had fallen right beside the knight, and Tristan quickly turned her over. Gasping heavily, Adima tried to breathe back the air that was lost to her during her ride.

"You're alive," she heard Tristan say. She tried to smile, but her lips wouldn't move. She could hear the knight grunt in pain as he lifted his hand from her and clutched his wounded side.

Carefully, she lifted herself into a sitting position. "I'm too late," she breathed, her lips quivering, and vision blurring. "No."

The hawk flew higher and higher in the sky, crying aloud. Passebreul skipped away from Cerdic's body and speed away, towards the rest of the battle.

Adima could only watch with regret, as Tristan leaned backwards and rested against the soggy ground. Quietly, she lay down beside him, wrapping her arm across his chest, and resting her head beside his.

"It's alright," she heard him murmur.

She couldn't speak, she could only think of what had just happened. It seemed so surreal. _This did not just happen. It didn't, it didn't._ And as her head throbbed, everything around her became black.

**A/N: Please Review you guys…thanks! And also, do you know if it's ok to post bloopers? I'm not sure cuz I think it says in the 'rules' that you can't…Anyhoo, I have some deleted scenes I want to show you guys, but I don't know if I can…they're really funny though! **

**Modesty **


	23. Risen

A/N: Well, here's the finale of The Heart of the Hawk! This chapter is kinda short, but hopefully you'll all still like it. Thanks so much for everyone who read and reviewed. All the constructive criticism means a lot to me since I want to be an author someday. So thanks for everything, you guys, it really makes me happy to open my email and see those reviews waiting. I enjoyed writing this story very much and it was truly an amazing experience- one that I won't forget (wow, that's corny). But since this was my very fist fanfic, it will always be extra special, and so will the faithful reviewers. Thanks, and this chapter is for you.

I don't think I will write a sequel because I'm too busy right now, but who knows? I have an idea for one…just no time.

**Chapter Twenty-One: Risen **

"Adima! Adima!" Talso roared as she sped across the quieting battlefield.

Rows of fire still burned in the oily tar pits, and a handful of soldiers remained engaged in battle, but for the most part, the Battle of Badon Hill was over.

Guinevere picked herself up off the ground. "Thank you," she said to Lancelot who stood beside her. "You didn't have to do that."

"What? Save your life?" he asked. They looked each other in the eye for a long time before being interrupted by the thrilling howls that Bors so often made. "Well, he sure sounds triumphant," Lancelot said, smiling.

They could see Gawain and Galahad walking towards them with Bors following, hollering, and pounding his palms against his chest.

"Where's Adima?" Guinevere asked suddenly.

"And Arthur," Lancelot said, looking around.

"And Tristan," Guinevere's face grew pale. "Where are they?"

Passebreul trotted swiftly beside Arthur, who was in the midst of shealding his sword. "What are you doing?" he asked the horse as Breul came to a stop beside him. "Where's Tristan?"

"Adima!" Talso fell to the ground beside her friend. "What?" her voice was frail and her hands shaking.

"Adima! Tristan!" Guinevere called out from far behind her.

"They're over here!" Talso shouted back.

Guinevere's heart dropped and she raced the rest of the way towards her sister, Lancelot and the other knights falling in quickly behind.

"No," Arthur mumbled under his breath when he saw where the others were gathering. Mounting Tristan's horse, Arthur drove Breul into a canter and made his way towards the others.

When he reached them, Arthur dismounted and approached the two lying down. Guinevere, who was holding Adima's hand, looked up at him, her cheeks streaked with tears. "They're alive," she told him.

"Quick!" Arthur ordered. "They need to be taken to a healer immediately.

"Hurry it up!" Bors ordered. "Get them on this horse, here, and we'll take them back to the fort."

"Right," agreed Gawain as he lifted Tristan's body. "Let's hurry."

When Adima awoke, she felt cradled by the warm sun. A soft smile broke on her lips; she felt as if she was in a dream. Then she remembered all that had happened and her smile faded.

"Tristan," she said as she opened her eyes and instantly sat right up.

"Adima," Guinevere, who had been sitting by her side, was grinning ear to ear. Adima had fright in her eyes. "He's going to live," Guinevere said kindly.

"Where is he?" Adima asked, fiercely.

"He's in the next room, sister. He hasn't woken yet."

"Take me to him."

Adima's heart was pounding as she walked through the stone walls of the building. As she paced quickly, she stared at the onyx ring on her finger and smiled. Guinevere followed directly behind.

"In there," she said, pointing her sister in the direction of a door.

Adima entered the room alone; her sister knew that she would want privacy. Tristan was lying in a bed, asleep, when Adima knelt beside him. She took his hands in her own and kissed them softly.

"I was in time," she said, breathlessly.

Tristan could feel warmth coming through his body, coming from his hands. His hands twitched and then loosened, and he shifted slightly closer to Adima.

The Woad kissed his hand again and smiled, placing it tenderly on her cheek. "Adima?" Tristan said, groggily.

"Yes," Adima said. "We're both alright."

The goblet must have been made of gold to shimmer so brightly in the blazing sun, or perhaps it was just the sun that made it glisten so. Merlin held it tightly between his hands as he walked slowly between the pair of lines of Woads that held fiery torches.

The sky was the bluest it had been in many months, and the sun's warmth reflected on them all. A gathering crowd had arrived to witness Guinevere and Arthur's wedding, including Tristan and Adima.

The engaged couple stood near the edge of the cliff, in the center of a circle of stones, beaming with delight. Guinevere's smile faded a little as she glanced at Lancelot, but she forced it again when she looked into Arthur's loving eyes.

Merlin handed Guinevere the golden goblet and she took a sip, and then handed it to her betrothed. Looking gratefully into his love's eyes, Arthur took the goblet and drank, and then they both looked to Merlin.

"Arthur," the druid began. "Guinevere…our people are one, as you are."

Guinevere flashed a quick smile at her sister and looked back to her husband. They shared a kiss, and the gathered crowd cheered, gaily.

"Now I'm really going to have to marry your mother," whispered Bors as he took his newest bastard from Vanora.

Vanora reached for the baby. "Who said I'd have you?"

"King Arthur!" Merlin announced, bellowing it so that all could hear, and recognize their new king.

"Hail Arthur!" the crowd shouted.

Adima gave a little squeeze on Tristan's bandaged hand. At that moment, Merlin kneeled to the new king and queen, and the crowd quickly followed. She was filled with pride, hope, and love, and had never been happier. Everything was alright, she realized. They were safe. Tristan was alive, and Arthur was king. They would start a new life, she and Tristan, and together, they would remain at Arthur's side.

"Let every man, woman, and child bear witness on this day, that all Britons will be united in one common cause," announced Arthur, sincerely, as he raised Excalibur into the sky, as if reaching for the sun.

"Artorius!" shouted Bors, saluting his friend and king with his own sword.

Tristan, Gawain, Lancelot, and Galahad all at once raised their own sword. "Arthur!" they called, and Adima and Talso joined in as well.

Smiling brightly, Guinevere reached for Excalibur and held onto it with her new husband. The cold pommel of the blade felt icy in her slender hands, though the feeling within her was only warmth. She glanced at her sister, Adima, who smiled back at her.

In Adima's eyes, she saw true joy, and in Tristan's, she saw love.

A/N: Well, that's the end, guys. Thanks so much for being a part of this. Also, I won't be posting the bloopers because it's not allowed, and it appears I've deleted one of them but I'll explain what they were if you're curious.

The first was an alternate first kiss scene between Tristan and Adima that I thought was too corny. Basically, he's sitting in the snow and Adima comes over and while he's playing his rote (if you read the real Tristan legend you'd know what that is) and Adima starts singing and then Bors comes over and sings too (for some comedic relief I guess) and then they kiss.

The other scene I really wanted in the story, but was told it was too weird and superfluous, which is true, so I'm glad I didn't post it. Basically, all the knights knew there was tension between Tristan and Adima, so Bors came up with the brilliant idea to set them up. So Bors, Lancelot, Gawain, and Galahad try to get the two into the woods. The get Adima into the woods and then need to find a way to get Tristan to go to where Adima is being distracted by Gawain. So Bors tells him that he saw a rabbit in the woods that Tristan should kill and Tristan is like 'Why don't you kill it?' and ors is like 'Cuz it's dangerous. It's got fangs the size of…it can leap about forty feet…' and so on, to pay homage to the great Monty Python movie, 'The Quest for the Holy Grail'. So, yeah…that was it. Sorry you couldn't read it. It's probably not as funny when I explain in, lol.

Camlann: I really appreciate all your reviews and your faithfulness throughout the writing of this story. Thanks so much. I hope you liked the ending! Keep in touch and update some of your stories!

Artemis Darkclaw: Thank you again for all your reviews too. I'm really glad you like my stories. I like yours too! Thanks again for everything. I hope you had fun in Maine. The numbers at the end of each chapter you write are still cool, lol.

Snape's Opera Rose: Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews. I hope you liked the ending! I wasn't even sure how I was going to end it…it kinda just happened, lol. I still need to read Harry Potter! I love all the other books.

Irishfire: I hope you're still reading this story since you didn't review last time…Well, if you are reading this, thank you for all your reviews. I'm sorry I had to have so many cliffhangers, but I love writing them…tehehe.

RedOthello: Looks like your praying helped. Thanks for the reviews.

ChildlikeEmpress: I hope you are reading this! Thanks for all the reviews. They all made me so happy! Hope you liked the ending too.


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